


The Sentence

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a remote country of the world, Blair is facing a severe punishment (caning).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sentence

## The Sentence

by Montserrat

Author's website:  <http://www.dextersworld.de/mindex.html>

* * *

The SentenceDisclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to Paramount, ect., no copyright infringement is intended and so on. The usual... 

Summary: In a remote country at the other end of the world Blair is accused of a ridiculous crime and the punishment is severe. 

Pairing: Jim/Blair 

Warning: h/c, non-consensual scenes (but no rape - imagine that!) angst, violence (public judicial punishment). Rated R for possibly disturbing scenes and NC-17 for sex. 

Notes:   
I did some research about the subject matter and although most facts in this story are, of course, fictional, there is a very good website dealing with the history, now and then, of corporal judicial punishment at <http://www.corpun.com>. This is not supposed to be a "moral" story, that's why I kept a few details vague, like where the following events happened. Sad fact is that such things do happen, even in the civilized 21st century. Amnesty International also offers information at <http://www.Amnesty.org>

Last but not least the human rights organization I mention in this story does not exist. I made up the name because, well, I needed a name. If something like "justice.org" does exist, it is not associated with this piece of fiction. 

Thanks to CalistaEcho & Keerah for the beta. They don't have any easy job. 

The Sentence  
by Montserrat  
montserat@onlinehome.de 

It was entirely his choice. They'd left it up to him to choose, to make the choice between pain and humiliation or humiliation and pain. 

Some choice. 

But he'd chosen anyway, going for the faster, if not lesser evil. He'd voted for his freedom, a right he'd taken for granted for so long, and now he waited for the punishment he'd chosen. 

His heart pounded wildly inside his chest. He could feel the racing rhythm in his throat, almost causing him to gag. He tried to take a deep breath, to find his center. Instead, his fear blossomed, knotting his gut. Breathing became difficult and he knew he needed to calm down to get through this. 

Through the pain, through the humiliation, through his sentence. 

Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he shivered despite the suffocating heat inside the courthouse. Soon his whole body was alternating between sweating and shivering, the lack of clothing adding to his humiliation. He fidgeted, fighting the restraints that held his hands in place behind his back. He felt people's eyes on him, staring at his exposed manhood, pointing, leering. Heat flooded his face as he blushed at their antics. 

They'd stripped him the first day of his confinement - four long days ago. He didn't know if it was part of their ridiculous laws or part of their wicked mind games. All he knew was that though he'd never been self-conscious about his body before, for the last few days he'd have given anything for clothes to cover himself with. He'd hidden in a corner of the filthy cell, hoping that nobody would notice him. 

Now he stood in front of a rapt audience, his body on display for everybody to see. 

His fear barely stilled their hunger for sensation. He looked at the strangers, trying not to see their greedy glances but searching the room for the one person he knew wouldn't be there, couldn't be there. Not yet anyway. Still, it was the thought, the mental image of his lover that he sought out for comfort. Soon, soon he'd be home again, safe and protected. That's why he had made his choice. 

Rough hands pushed him forward onto the wooden frame. Instinctively following the harsh instructions shouted in the language he didn't understand, he bent at the waist. The wooden beam pressed into his stomach, increasing his efforts to breathe. Immediately his hands were fastened tightly and his eyes noticed the worn handles, which he now gripped for support with sweaty palms. Blood rushed to his head. 

He yelped in surprise when somebody pushed his legs apart, putting his naked body on display obscenely. From his upside down position he watched as his ankles were restrained by chains on the other side of the frame. His panic rose. 

A booted foot came into view, pushing a rusty bucket under his head and a voice spoke to him but, again, he didn't understand the words. 

"I... I don't understand," he stammered, turning his head to search for the interpreter who'd communicated for him the last few days. 

"He says if you feel sick to your stomach you should try to hit the bucket, sir" the heavily accented voice translated. Despite the politeness, the word 'sir' didn't carry the respect it usually implied. 

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "Yes," he whispered, praying it wouldn't come to that. Then he flinched violently as he felt a hand spreading his ass cheeks. He tensed up, trying to move away from the touch. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, knowing that his voice quivered. 

"Standard procedure," his interpreter informed. "Never forget that you chose your sentence, sir." 

"WHAT are you... ahhhhh!" he moaned and jerked in his bonds. A rough finger pushed deep inside his orifice. "I... didn't choose this!" he exclaimed, knowing his protest wouldn't be heard. The crowd laughed, pleased with his misery. Somebody yelled something and others cheered. He gritted his teeth as the finger probed him without the benefit of proper lubrication. 

"It is part of your punishment, sir. We have to make sure you're not hiding anything to lessen your pain. You broke our laws and the crowd demands justice." 

He shook his head in denial, and then sighed in relief as the intrusive finger left him. It was only the beginning. Moments later somebody spoke again in that foreign tongue, addressing the attending audience. He could make out his name a couple of times but the interpreter remained silent. It was probably a reading of his crime and the sentence. He surely didn't want to hear it again. 

He'd feel it soon. 

"Sir, remember please that you are required to count the strokes." 

"Yes, I'll remember," he said, recalling the long hours in his cell corner when he'd tried to memorize the foreign numbers. 

One to twenty-two. 

He trembled suddenly, as the people behind him got into position. He could only see a few sets of long tanned legs, one directly behind him, two on each side of him. A voice spoke again and he caught the number. 'Twenty-two", as he had memorized. More foreign words, then 'twenty-two' again. 

The courtroom became silent, a few wooden chairs squeaked, clothes rustling. Above him he could hear the humming of a fan while the humid air descended on his skin. 

He'd never been caned or spanked. As the first stroke hit his backside, he almost laughed hysterically. There was a first time for everything apparently. 

Never before had he felt pain like this. The cane seemed to enter his skin, immediately leaving its bloody mark for everybody to see. Too stunned to cry out, he closed his eyes and grabbed the handles for support. He breathed deeply, trying to embrace the pain and ride it out. 

"Count, sir, count!" The interpreter called out as the second stroke hit him. 

He'd forgotten the numbers. 

"Two!" he shouted in rising panic. "Three!" he added quickly. The cane hit the same spot over and over again and he blurted out the numbers in English. His cheeks burned with fire already and he knew he'd never make it through the twenty-two sentenced strokes. After the tenth stroke, they mercifully stopped for a moment. He panted heavily, gulping in oxygen. 

"Sir, you mustn't count in English," his interpreter's voice reached his ear. 

"I... I... f-forgot," he gasped, his mind focused on the remaining strokes. 

"They will begin again!" 

"N-no... p-pplease...," he shouted. There were only twelve left, just twelve left. "...I...I'm ...counting." 

"It's your sentence, sir," the interpreter reminded him. "Twenty-two strokes, sir. Now... I taught you the numbers..." The man began counting in his mother tongue and with each word the executioner repeated the searing strokes. Blair struggled to keep up, his brain held captive by unbearable agony. He couldn't think but he had to remember the numbers. 

An indescribable countdown of pain. 

Reaching ten again, they stopped. 

"Do you remember now?" 

"Y-y-yes." 

And he counted. 

After the nineteenth stroke, the beating stopped for a blissful moment. He panted, saliva running down his chin. He moaned miserably when a pair of hands touched his burning ass and pulled the cheeks apart. The next stroke hit him on his center and he felt a wetness running down his thighs as his bladder gave out from the excruciating pain. 

"Ssstop... please... s-stop it..." 

Twenty. 

**"PLEASE!"**

Twenty-one. 

He whimpered the numbers, his voice hoarse from screaming. He couldn't feel his hands anymore as they clenched the handles, tearing at them to somehow escape the torturous hits. 

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease... stop it." 

Twenty-two. 

Then it was over. 

There wasn't anything left in him as the caning finally ceased for good. He'd screamed, he'd sobbed, he'd begged, he'd messed himself, he'd vomited into the rusty bucket. They'd stripped him of everything. His human rights, his clothes and now, his dignity. 

They released him from the spanking frame. Strong hands pulled him up and he opened his mouth in a silent moan. Somebody touched his ass with an antiseptic pad and he whimpered at the additional cruelty. Strangely, the cold lotion was a merciful blessing on his burning backside. But then the fire returned with a vengeance. After that they dragged him out of the courtroom, disposing of him in the corridor. He fell to the cement floor. There was only pain. 

He could hear voices and people moving around, not paying attention to the human mass of bloody bruises and torn skin on the floor. A buzzing reached his ears and a few seconds later he felt the ghost-like touch of a fly - crawling over his face. He tried opening his eyes and when his blurry vision cleared a little, he could see the insect nibbling at his sweat-covered lips and enjoying the scent of the dried vomit. He tried blowing some air out his nose, but all he managed was a sigh. The fly continued its exploration and was soon joined by another. 

He allowed his eyes to drift shut. He was exhausted but knew his body wouldn't let him rest. The fire in his butt radiated up his back, while his thighs and legs quivered spasmodically. 

Somebody touched his face. He could hear the gentle buzz as the flies escaped from their resting spot. Somebody spoke to him. Belatedly he realized the language was English and he almost smiled at the courtesy. His mind couldn't digest the softly spoken words but then he recognized the nickname. 

The somebody had called him 'Chief'. 

Four days earlier... 

When the telephone rang at the ungodly hour of 2.31 a.m., Jim Ellison instantly knew Blair was in trouble. An instinct brought to him by the sentinel genes told him his guide needed him. It felt like an electric jolt through his heart as he grabbed the receiver. 

"What happened, Chief?" Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the Sentinel focused on the sounds on the other end of the line. Voices spoke in an unknown language, shouting and begging. Above all sounds though, he could clearly hear the accelerated heartbeat of his friend. "Blair?" he called softly when there wasn't an immediately answer. 

"Get me out of here, Jim," came the strained reply. Blair's melodic voice was laced with tension. 

"Try to calm down, Chief," Jim said softly , while he sat up in his bed and turned on the light. "Are you hurt?" 

For a moment all he could hear was the background noise and Blair's harsh breathing. He must've pressed the telephone receiver close to his face. 

"Jim?" Blair breathed his name, and Jim could hear the sob he was trying to suppress. 

"Right here, Blair." Jim tightened his hold on the phone, mentally willing his young lover to talk, to fill him in, to get him the information he needed to protect him. "Talk to me, buddy," he encouraged tenderly, when, again, he only heard the heavy breathing. 

"They... I... I... bought something at a bazaar, a beautiful black stone. There's...there's a legend attached to it ...and ...and I thought it would be such a neat thing to...to have." 

Blair talked fast now, hastily, as if an invisible force cut his time short. "I paid cash and got a receipt. Tonight at the airport they asked me to open my suitcase. I didn't have anything to hide, Jim, but they got really pissed when they saw the stone. I don't know what this is all about. Their English is bad and I can hardly understand their language. I learned a bit when I visited the local museum here but it's a difficult dialect. There's an interpreter they got for me but I'm not sure if he's telling me everything. He said I broke a law for protection of artifacts and cultural heritage as the stone was ... I don't know what it was, Jim. I just don't know." Blair's voice broke and for another minute Jim could only hear the strained breathing. 

"Where are you, Chief?" Jim asked while putting on his clothes. "Are you still at the airport?" 

"No, they... took me in and I'm at a police station. I... gave them all my money to let me make this phone call. There's no US embassy anywhere near and the next Consulate General is ... I don't know if there is one ." Blair sighed heavily. "The interpreter said the regular sentence for such crimes is 90 days in jail, Jim." The voice quivered again. "I'm so scared, man." 

Jim closed his eyes at the despair he could clearly hear through the words. "Don't worry, Chief, I'll be there as soon as I can. Can this interpreter arrange for a lawyer to represent you in court? What about bail? Tell him money is no issue." 

"There won't be a trial" Blair said shakily. "It's a given. I was told there might be another option, but I don't know any details." 

"I'll call a friend of mine. He's an International liaison at the UN. Maybe he can pull a few strings," Jim said. "You'll be out of there in no time, Chief. Don't worry." 

"Maybe Jack Kelso could help," Blair suggested suddenly, remembering his older friend at the university. "He knows people." 

"Try to relax, Blair. I'll try to get the next flight down there and be with you. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?" While he spoke the reassuring words, Jim was already throwing a few clothes into a duffle bag. With one hand he opened a drawer and retrieved his passport. 

"Jim, there's somebody coming. He wants me to hang up the phone. Oh, God, please hurry," Blair pleaded, his voice sounding distant now. 

"Everything will be okay, Chief," Jim shouted into the receiver. "I love you!" 

The line went dead. 

* * *

The gesture was unmistakable. Still, Blair stared open-mouthed at the guard, refusing to move a muscle. The guard repeated the order in his native tongue and pulled at Blair's clothes. 

"Whatever you are saying, I'm not doing anything until you get that interpreter back in here," Blair demanded, knowing his words wouldn't be understood. To emphasize his statement, he firmly shook his head. "No," he repeated. 

A few minutes later, the door opened and the interpreter appeared. Blair sighed in relief. Now he was able to communicate and talk himself out of it. 

"Thanks for coming," he smiled gratefully. "Would you please tell this gentleman that he cannot make me take off my clothes? I have rights." 

The interpreter, who'd introduced himself as Dominick, nodded but didn't address the guard. "I'd strongly advise you to follow his orders and our laws, sir. Disobedience might result in some unpleasant procedures." 

Blair wasn't impressed. "I understand and respect your laws, believe me. I'm an anthropologist and I was here on an exchange programme with your local schools." 

Dominick wasn't impressed either. "We do know what you do, sir, but neither your occupation nor your American citizenship will help you in this situation. You broke the law by attempting to remove the artifact from our country's cultural heritage." 

"Remove?" Blair repeated incredulously. "With all due respect, Dominick, I paid for that stone in a market, I have all receipts. You make it sound like I stole that damn thing." 

"Some laws are difficult to understand for foreigners," Dominick nodded. "Still they are part of our country and you knew that before setting foot on our soil. Now you will have to bear the consequences." 

The guard said something and Dominick nodded again. "He demands that you remove all of your clothes immediately or he'll use force to do so." 

"I don't believe this!" Blair threw his hands into the air but started unbuttoning his shirt. After he'd stripped down to his underwear, he turned to Dominick. "Is there any way for me to get out of this? You said there won't be a trail so I..." He trailed off as the guard spoke up again. "What is it now?" 

Dominick pointed to his boxers. "I am sorry, sir, but you are requested to remove all your clothing." 

"You've got to be kidding." Blair looked at the two men, his eyes wide with disbelief. 

"We are concerned about your safety, sir," Dominick explained. "We would not want to injure you should you attempt to escape. Hence we hope that the lack of clothing will prevent you from trying." 

"Yeah, right," Blair muttered under his breath. After a moment's hesitation he pulled off his boxers, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor. He covered his manhood with his hands and looked at Dominick expectantly. "What now?" 

"You will spend the night in jail, sir. Tomorrow morning I shall present you with your choice of punishment," Dominick explained casually as if reciting the side order of an expensive menu. 

"Can't we do it now?" Blair asked, watching wearily as the guard stepped closer. 

"We like to grant you the opportunity to think about your crime, sir. Also it is common procedure to allow you some rest." 

"How generous," Blair mumbled. Then he flinched as the guard slapped a pair of handcuffs around his right wrist. "Hey!" he protested, tearing at the bond. He kept struggling while the guard cuffed his hands behind his back. 

"Sir, please don't make this more difficult than it is for you," Dominick advised with a hint of a warning in his voice. 

"I'm not walking out of here without any clothes on," Blair protested. The guard grabbed his upper arm in a tight grip and opened the door. A buzz of voices echoed from the crowded hallway and Blair balked. "No, dammit!" 

The guard ignored his struggle but pushed him through the door into the open. Dominick followed suit but turned into the opposite direction. "We will see each other tomorrow, sir. Have a good night." 

Blair fought against the iron grip on his arm. "No, wait! Dominick, please don't leave me. I need you to translate for me, please!" He called after the interpreter while the guard led him away. 

"No worries, sir, you won't need me tonight," Dominick assured and disappeared around the corner. 

"Dominick!" Blair shouted one last time, realizing his defeat. Now he was on his own - robbed of both his clothes and means of communication. 

The guard guided him down the hall, walking past police officers, clerks and fellow criminals. Blair walked with his head held high despite the humiliation. He looked straight ahead, trying hard to ignore the occasional laughter or whistles. Somebody swatted his butt but he didn't show any emotion. Another hand fondled his cock, squeezing it painfully, but he managed a cold stare accompanied by a threatening grunt. They reached the cellblock and Blair shivered suddenly in the drafty area. 

The cell was small, almost tiny in comparison to his hotel room where he'd spent the last three weeks. The eight occupants, naked like him, looked up as the guard opened the door and pushed him inside. Blair stumbled but managed to regain his balance. He heard laughter at his movements. Turning around, he felt the guard's hand releasing the handcuffs through the bars. Once he was free, Blair rubbed his wrists and took a deep breath. Eyeing his companions he wondered briefly if he should say hello - the anthropologist in him was intrigued at the variety of faces - but he kept his mouth shut. He knew his Caucasian appearance would draw their attention. If not that, his long curly hair surely would, so he decided to ignore his cellmates as much as possible. He walked through the cell, stepping over a couple of legs, and crouched down in a corner. There were no beds or cots, just a filthy sink and a soiled toilet. He crossed his arms and tried to bend his knees to shield his genitals as much as possible. 

There was laughter and as Blair looked up, he saw one tall, well-built man standing in the middle of their cell. The man pointed at him and said something in the country's native language. It didn't sound overly threatening. 

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Blair replied with a brief smile and a shrug. 

More laughter echoed through their confinement. The man spread his legs and engulfed his cock with his hand pointing it at Blair. The pumping motion was obvious and the young man frantically shook his head. The big man laughed again, approaching him with a hungry gaze. 

Blair swallowed, as his heart rate increased. There was no escape, the moist wall at his back effectively blocking the way. Of course, the tiny cell did not leave much room to run anyway. He kept looking at the man who now crouched down in front of him, still pumping his cock. He spoke again, seductively now, offering the organ to Blair. 

"Fuck yourself, asshole!" Blair spat, staring intently into the dark eyes. 

The man returned his stare, cocking his head slightly as he listened to the sound of Blair's words. Then he reached out to touch Blair's knee but the young man slapped at his hand angrily. 

"Get your dirty hands off me!" Blair knew he was walking on thin ice. The man could easily throw him to the ground and have his way with him - anyway he pleased. However, maybe, just maybe, Blair's stamina would leave its impression on things. 

His courage paid off. 

The man watched Blair for a minute. Then he stood up and said something to his companions. Their laughter joined his, vibrating hauntingly through the small place. 

Blair stared ahead, not moving a muscle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the man jerking off in front him. The movements of the pumping hand grew faster and harder and soon the man orgasmed, his semen spilling all over his hand. He grunted as his legs threatened to give out under the intensity of his climax. He talked again causing more laughter. With a quick motion he went down on his knees. 

Startled, Blair looked up in time to see his large hand approaching. His head jerked back and hit the stone wall behind him as the man cupped his face and smeared his cum over Blair's cheeks. Unable to fight him, Blair tried to stay calm but he could feel the bile rising in his throat. The man's hands stank of urine and human waste. 

"Get off me!" Blair shouted, hoping his rage would overtone his fear. 

Miraculously, the hands left him. 

For now. 

* * *

Blair couldn't tell when the next day began. The day consisted of hours, hours were made of minutes and minutes got reduced to seconds as he struggled to make it through unharmed to the next short batch of moments. Ever present fear tensed his body into a tight knot of muscles. However, he welcomed the pain of the occasional cramps or the rough surface in his back because they kept him awake. As long as he was alert and responding to each and every movement in their cell, he would be safe, untouched and alive. 

His body demanded sleep but every time his head slowly dropped to his chest, he jerked awake again with a start, looking around wildly, waiting for the inevitable, which would come eventually. The men around him enjoyed his struggles; their eyes wandering over his body, cataloguing him like a high-prized award. They kept laughing and pointing at him and sometimes somebody would just make a sudden motion to make him flinch and try to crawl deeper into his corner. 

So, he didn't dare to close his eyes. He watched as the shadows became longer and voices slowly died when the night settled over them. Soft snoring reached his ears as well as a lustful moan when somebody close to him masturbated roughly. Somebody spoke and it sounded like a prayer. 

Blair tried to find the person in the darkness but all he could see were heaps on the floor, throwing unshaped shadows at the walls. The next sound tore at his heart. Nearby, in the next cell or from across the corridor, somebody whined in that unknown language. It sounded like begging, a plea for mercy and then he cried out in pain. Moments later, the noise increased to a long wail while somebody else grunted in delight. Blair covered his ears, trying to escape the gruesome sound. 

He stared into the darkness, while his consciousness struggled to concentrate on the sounds, which he hoped to tune out so desperately. Even muffled by the palms of his hands, he could still hear it. The wail turned into nerve-wracking howls and when there'd only been one panting voice before, there were three now. Three against one, evil pleasure against raw pain. 

When it was over, Blair couldn't say how much time had passed. A batch of accumulated seconds, however, had gone by and he'd lived through it, made another round of minutes alive. 

Silence hung over the cellblock now, only occasionally interrupted by a sigh and a whimper from the cell next door. Blair listened to the sounds, wishing he could ease the man's agony. At the same time a feeling of indescribable relief washed over him. It could've been him but he'd survived so far by keeping his vigilance. 

And it could _still_ be him for the night was young. 

Blair didn't know how much time had passed. All he knew was that the new day arrived and there was no sign of Dominick or a guard to take him out of the cell into the safety of an interrogation room. A couple of his cellmates were taken away, only to be replaced by three other men who got shoved into the cell, their faces fearful and as taut as Blair's. 

Blair tried to communicate with one of the guards who brought in some water but the man ignored his words and gestures as if he didn't exist. Once again the shadows grew longer and soon the rumble of voices ceased. Another night approached and the young man sighed heavily. 

He'd survived another day. 

Exhaustion finally caught up with him and while he told his tired brain to stay alert, Blair leaned his head against the wall and dozed off. The gentle curtain of sleep pulled him into a deep slumber, taking him away from the cell into another universe where the strong arms of his lover would protect him. 

Strong arms... that suddenly grabbed him brutally. Blair's eyes flew open, the cry, which was about to erupt from his throat, was silenced by a sweaty palm. Paralyzed with shock, he stared wide-eyed at the shadow towering above him. The hand on his mouth pushed him down onto the stone floor, pinning him easily with feral strength. At the same time he felt a second hand fondling his genitals roughly. He tried to scream behind the human gag -- wondering briefly what good it would do. The shadow cupped his balls, squeezing them hard until tears sprang into his eyes. Then the hand moved to his cock and began a vicious pumping. Pain radiated through Blair's groin while the dark figure slowly draped one leg over him. 

It was now or never, Blair's panicking brain ordered. 

Driven by fear and the ultimate need for survival, Blair bit into the hand that held him down. He tasted blood as his teeth dug deeply into to the flesh. Accompanied by a surprised outcry of pain, the pressure on his face lessened for a second. Blair seized the one and only opportunity and violently drew up his leg. He aimed blindly, targeting the other man's groin forcefully. 

"Back off!" He screamed, kicking furiously. 

His attacker grunted in pain and suddenly Blair was free. Jumping to his feet, Blair fought the vicious urge to kick the moaning figure on the ground. 

"Don't you DARE to try and touch me again!" His voice was venomous. Blair looked around at their cellmates who'd been roused by the fight. He glared at them, putting all his strength into his next words. "Any of you, hear me? Don't EVER try to fuck with me again, is that clear!" Breathing harshly, Blair stood his ground, praying to whoever was watching that the men wouldn't realize their overpowering number. 

He waited, challenging anybody who dared to move with an ice-cold stare. 

Nobody did. 

His assailant had crawled back to his sleeping spot, clutching at his crotch and moaning constantly. 

Nobody offered support. Nobody moved. 

Blair looked around the cell one more time, before he carefully hunkered down in his corner again. His heart raced out of control, making it impossible to shape a logical thought. Blair struggled to calm down but when his heart finally slowed down to normal, his brain began to function again, sending agonizing thoughts and generating new fears. 

There'd be a next time for sure. 

* * *

The next morning they came for him. Two guards roughly grabbed him and dragged him out of the cell. Behind him the other men whistled as his wrists were cuffed behind him again, exposing him and adding to their demented pleasure. Blair stumbled over his feet. Lack of sleep and nutrition caught up with him, making his legs wobbly and his vision unfocused. The catcalls continued as they entered the hallway. The crowd stared at him, but this time their interest mingled with disgust at the look of his filthy body. 

Dominick waited for him in the interrogation room. If Blair's ragged appearance fazed him, the interpreter didn't show it. As Blair slumped into the hard plastic chair, he began to talk immediately. 

"Sir, the laws of our country allows you the privilege to make a choice of your punishment. There's--" 

"C--could I get s-something to drink, please?" Blair croaked hoarsely. Leaning back in his chair, he almost sighed in delight at the piece of furniture. It felt so good to sit on this chair. His hands were still cuffed behind his back but he didn't care much. He was safe; he could rest, and he could relax. 

For a moment. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I am not allowed to make such a decision," Dominick shook his head. 

Blair sighed, closing his eyes. "Never mind," he whispered. 

"Did they treat you respectfully?" Dominick asked hesitantly. 

"I'm alive," Blair mumbled, feeling the sleep pulling at his body. "I'm alive...," he repeated. 

"Very well." Dominick nodded and sat on the opposite site of the table. "As I said you are privileged to choose the means of your sentence." He sobered. "I'm sorry, sir, this is not really correct. By taking possession of the artifact and trying to leave the country..." 

"I didn't take anything...," Blair muttered, allowing his head to drop to his chest. 

"...Your sentence was already established. This crime qualifies for Sentence 2 which stands for 90 days in jail," Dominick explained. 

Blair's eyes popped open and he jerked his head up. "NO!" he shouted, then he coughed as his parched throat protested the sound. "No jail, please!" Exhaustion and fear made his eyes fill with tears. "Please, don't make me stay here. I... pay every fine your laws request....my friends in the United States... they... they will vouch for me. I... cannot go to jail. Please, Dominick..." Blair began to tremble as he envisioned the impossibly long time of 90 days in that cell. 

Dominick smiled almost gently. "Sir, that is why our generous government legislated another option to meet your punishment." He consulted the sheets of paper in front of him. 

"What is it?" Blair asked, new hope surging through his body. 

"Instead of spending 90 days jail time, you may opt for a public corporal punishment," Dominick stated. 

Blair swallowed, staring at the man for a moment. "W-what... what do you mean?" 

Dominick pointed to a paragraph. "Sentence 2 offenders will receive twenty two strokes by bamboo or rattan canes on the bare skin, the execution to be carried out in the courthouse in the presence of public representatives." He looked up. "Of course, you will have to undergo a medical examination to stipulate you are in good health to endure the treatment." 

"Twenty two strokes," Blair repeated, then whispered, "Or 90 days." 

"After your sentence is carried out you'll be free to go," Dominick advised. 

"Immediately?" Blair could feel a tear pearling down his cheeks at the thought of his freedom which now seemed to be within in reach again. 

"Yes, sir," Dominick nodded. "However, if I may say so, sir, I would advise against it. Corporal punishment is not for the faint of heart." 

"When would it happen?" Blair wanted to know, clenching the fingers behind his back. 

"If there is a free appointment in the court's tight schedule, you might be allowed to present yourself for your punishment tomorrow." Dominick looked at his notes again. "Once you sign up, I shall make the necessary arrangements." 

Blair took a deep breath. "Where do I sign?" he asked. 

He'd go home tomorrow. 

* * *

Somebody called him 'Chief'. 

The beloved nickname reverberated through his head, replacing the haze of pain momentarily. Blair made a valiant attempt to open his eyes again but his body refused to cooperate. All his resources were needed to fight the vicious pain. His muscles shook violently in the aftermath of their struggle against the bonds. Or maybe it was simple shock setting in, he didn't know. He couldn't form a logical thought anymore. His focus remained with the pain. 

"Chief, can you hear me?" 

Jim was here. 

He was safe now. 

That was all that mattered. 

Blair sighed, his eyelids fluttering briefly but never opened. The effort was simply too great. 

"Oh my God, Chief, what did they do to you?" Jim's voice almost broke. "I'm here, Blair. Everything will be okay." 

"...'im." Blair wasn't sure if the name was actually audible but when a gentle hand stroked his hair, he knew Jim had heard him. Jim always heard him. 

"Right here, Chief." 

"...choice...," Blair croaked, trying to work up enough saliva to shape the words. He wanted to explain to Jim that it was okay. He'd chosen, and it was over now. All over and he was free. Nobody would threaten to touch and hurt him anymore. He'd made his choice. 

"...made... c-choicccc..." he tried again. A spasm knifed through his lower back, sending unbearable agony to his torn buttocks. He moaned helplessly and bit his tongue until he tasted blood. 

Then, mercifully, his world went dark. 

* * *

It was a nightmare. Later, Jim Ellison couldn't remember how he'd managed to get his injured lover to the local clinic - or what went as a 'clinic' in that small town, on an island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. When he'd found Blair at the courthouse, hurt and dirty with flies crawling over his face, Jim could only try to fathom what cruelties had been inflicted on him. Barely clinging to consciousness, his friend was too weak and in too much pain to utter a sentence. 

He'd covered Blair in a blanket that a kind soul had given him without any words.The taxi drive to the hospital passed in a blur, as the Sentinel concentrated on his lover's vital signs, focusing on the precious heartbeat that raced way too fast. 

At the overly crowded clinic, Jim followed the gurney that now carried his love, forcefully demanding entry to the exam room. A young nurse tried to stop him but he shoved her aside. He ignored the outcry of pain as she hit a nearby shelf. His attention focused on Blair and the elderly doctor who gave a few instructions in a language he didn't understand. Jim stepped closer to the gurney and inhaled sharply as the blanket was removed from Blair's body, revealing the terrible injuries he'd already seen at the courtyard. 

The buttocks he'd enjoyed caressing and loving so much were a bloody mess of torn skin and raw flesh. It seemed as if the skin had simply disintegrated, the sheer force of the each stroke leaving its permanent mark. Blood had dried on some wounds but many lashes still seeped wetly. Where the skin wasn't broken or torn, deep bruising had already appeared as evidence of burst blood vessels under the flesh. A few deep lashes marred the upper thighs and the lower back. 

"Will he be alright?" Jim asked anxiously, knowing his question would most likely be not understood. 

The accent was rough but Jim almost sagged in relief against a cabinet as the doctor answered, "This young man received a severe caning. It happens very often here on the islands. Looks bad and it is worse." 

Jim closed his eyes momentarily, clenching his jaws against the rage he felt. How could somebody do this to another human being? 

"He didn't do anything wrong," the detective whispered against the threat of tears constricting his throat. 

The doctor gave a few more orders. "Some laws are difficult to understand," he admitted calmly. 

"How is he?" Jim asked again. 

The doctor turned around to him after a few minutes. "As you can see the open wounds are severe. This is not surprising considering the nature of punishment. Our main concern is infection, sir. We have antibiotics which we will give your friend but I would strongly advise to get him to a hospital that carries more equipment." 

Jim nodded. "I'll get him back to the United States as soon as he can be transported." Much to his surprise, the doctor sighed heavily. 

"Whereas the injuries themselves are not life-threatening, he will be in considerable pain for a long time. Transporting him back to your country might be a reasonable thought. I need to examine him further to see what is his overall condition. If possible I would suggest sedating him during the journey." The man looked over his shoulder where the nurses treated the gruesome wounds. He turned his gaze back to Jim. "We also have to watch for signs of shock. Most offenders are unable to digest what has happened, even though they choose their punishment." 

"He's strong," Jim said, working hard to get his emotions under control. "He'll get through this." 

The doctor watched him keenly for a moment. "I shall give you a report for your doctors in the States, sir. To them it might only look like a severe beating but I assure you it was much more than that. I've seen the strongest men never recover from the shock, the humiliation and pain." He threw another glance over his shoulder. "I am certain that your friend wouldn't have made this choice if he'd known the consequences. Nobody would have." 

"How long will it take until he can be transported?" Jim managed to ask. The lump in his throat grew bigger with each horrible detail the doctor supplied. 

"Let me finish my exam, sir, then we'll talk some more," the doctor promised. 

Jim forced his body to move as he stretched out his hand. "Thank you, doctor. Is... is there a phone I could use? I need to... " Jim cleared his throat as his voice threatened to give out. "... make arrangements." 

"The only phone for overseas calls would be in my office, sir," the doctor explained. "Feel free to use it," he added with a warm smile. 

* * *

Simon Banks' deep voice engulfed him like a soothing summer rain. Jim sat in the doctor's office, his grip on the telephone receiver vice-like. His fingers started cramping but he ignored the pain, too fierce was his rage. 

"...he'll be alright, Jim," Simon reassured him 11,000 miles away. "Sandburg's a fighter and you know it." 

Again the Sentinel fought against the threat of tears. "Simon, you should've seen him!" he shouted. "They beat him to a pulp and threw him into a filthy corridor. If I hadn't shown up when I did, he...he would probably still be lying there. He could barely talk, Simon. He was in so much pain." His voice became whisper. "So much pain...He didn't deserve this." 

"Jim, I can imagine how you feel --" Simon began but a watery laugh interrupted him. 

"No, captain, you can't impossible imagine this. I... I've never seen anything like this and believe me I've seen a lot of shit in the army. This... it was torture." 

At the other end of the world, Simon sighed. "Jim, this is hard but you have to be strong for him. Blair needs you. More than ever." 

"He's got me, Simon. By God, he's got me," Jim vowed emphatically. He leaned back into the cushy chair, resting his head against its back. "I don't know what to do," he admitted softly. 

"Do what you always do," Simon said and Jim could hear the smile in his voice. 

"And what would that be, sir?" 

"Be Jim Ellison." 

"Great," Jim sighed at the cryptic answer. "Anything else?" 

Now Simon sounded hoarse. "Tell the kid we'll be all thinking of him and get him home soon." 

"I will. Thank you, Simon." Tiredly, Jim hung up the phone. He looked at his watch and counted the time change. He'd been on his feet for 32 hours. After Blair's phone call four days ago, he'd tried to move heaven and hell to get here. Flights to this remote corner of the world were rare and expensive - unless of course you were a successful anthropologist, Jim chuckled sadly. The university, much to the young man's delight, had covered Blair's flight and hotel expenses of course. Remembering his partner's undistilled joy at the fabulous news a few months ago, Jim suddenly buried his face into his hands. 

"Oh, God, Chief, what've they done to you?" he moaned, allowing his tears to finally run freely. 

* * *

The first thing Blair saw was the IV in his hand. Resting close to his face, he wondered briefly how the limb had gotten there. Ridiculous, his mind laughed at him. It's your hand and it belongs there. 

Does it really? 

Blair's eyes drifted shut again as thinking became too much of an effort. Then the searing fire in his backside registered with him and he buried his face into the pillow. He lay on his stomach but still there was intolerable pressure on his behind. It felt like sandpaper that grated into his sensitive skin. 

"Chief?" 

Somebody called him 'Chief'. 

Blair opened his eyes and now another hand covered his gently. He stared at the limbs and slowly turned his hand to grasp the fingers. He knew those fingers. Tenderly and soothingly they stroked the palm of his hand. 

"J--jim?" 

A sob escaped his throat when he heard the beloved voice of his partner. He'd longed for that voice, imagined it in his dreams. 

"I'm right here, Blair. Everything will be okay," Jim crooned soothingly while caressing Blair's hand. 

"Jim?" Blair asked again, holding onto the hand. He tried to turn his head but the simple movement seemed to jostle his whole body and he moaned miserably. 

"Don't try to move, sweetheart, I'm with you. You're safe now." 

Blair inhaled deeply, flinching again as the pain flared up inside him. "I can't see you," he murmured, his eyes filling involuntarily. 

Moments later the caring blue eyes of his lover looked into his face. Jim crouched in front of the bed, his head at eye level. "Here I am, Chief." Deep dark circles below those same blue eyes marred the man's face but he smiled warmly. 

"Where... What day is?" Blair asked, never blinking for fear the loving face would vanish. 

"It's still Tuesday. You're in the hospital. As soon as the doctor gives his okay, we'll take you back to Cascade," Jim said and reached out to stroke Blair's hair. "You'll be home soon." 

"How b-bad is it?" Blair whispered the question watching Jim's features distort sympathetically. He squeezed the hand that held his. "Tell me." 

Jim swallowed. "You'll be fine but... but it'll take a while," he said vaguely. He caught a single tear that rolled down Blair's cheeks. "I'll ring for the nurse to give you some more pain meds, okay?" 

Blair nodded mutely. "C-could you ask her... to take it off?" he asked after a moment. 

"What do you mean, Chief?" Jim smiled as he rang for the nurse. 

"It hurts." Blair moaned as he became more aware of the pressure on his buttocks as well as inside him. 

"It's... just a sheet," Jim looked at the thin blanket covering Blair's lower body. 

"It hurts so much." Clinging to Jim's hand, Blair didn't fight the tears of pain. "W--what's ...inside." 

"Try to relax, Chief. The nurse will be here soon." Jim kept stroking the long hair, carefully venturing down to Blair's neck and shoulders. He could feel rock-hard muscles under his fingers as his young lover struggled against the pain. "You won't be able to get up for a few days, buddy. That's why they needed to put a catheter into you." 

"I-I c-can't... it hurts, Jim!" Blair got more and more agitated as the pain seemed to increase, coupled with the unpleasant sensations of the medical devices. 

"Yes, you _can_ , love," Jim encouraged, massaging the tense muscles. "Try to breathe like you taught me, okay?" He cast a desperate look over his shoulder hoping for the nurse to arrive soon. It tore at his heart to see his lover suffering as he couldn't do anything to ease his pain. He could only watch. 

"T-take me h-home," Blair pleaded. "I w-wanna go home." 

"Soon, Chief. You'll be home soon," Jim promised and leaned forward to place a tender kiss on Blair's cheeks, catching the salty tears with his lips. 

* * *

Ponderously, Jim replaced the receiver and leaned back into the chair. Worn out physically from the heat and time change, he had problems performing the simplest tasks. In addition, mental fatigue tore at his strength. Vivid images of Blair's injuries as well as the tales of experience brought to him by the doctors tormented him, flashing through his mind constantly, churning up his already raw emotions. 

He looked up as the door opened and a petite nurse entered the doctor's office that he'd been allowed to use once again for an international phone call. The young woman smiled and place cup of steaming tea in front of him, adding a few words in her mother tongue. 

Jim offered a tired smile in return. "Thank you. I really appreciate this," he said. His hand trembled as he reached out for the tea. Despite the oppressive heat, he welcomed the soothing warm liquid and downed the cup in one go. Then the cup slid out of his hand and shattered on the tiled floor. Jim flinched at the sounds; however, he couldn't bring himself to move to collect the shards. 

A careful touch on his shoulder startled him. The nurse watched him with concerned eyes, saying something melodiously. She went on her knees to gather the broken pieces. 

"I'm sorry...," Jim murmured. "I -- I'm a bit tired, I guess." 

The nurse touched his arm again. "Sir... friend...," she stammered as she struggled with the few English words she knew. "...okay." The young woman blushed and hung her head in embarrassment. 

Jim sighed, patting her hand while he stood up. "Yes, he'll be okay. Thanks." Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, feeling his tense muscles hardly relax. He pointed at the destroyed cup in her hand. "I will pay for it." With that he reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. The nurse's eyes grew wide as he unfolded a ten-dollar bill and handed it to her. 

"Sir?" She looked at the note, a fortune in her worldview. 

"Thank you," Jim enunciated smilingly. 

"Sss-ank ju," she mimicked, bowing her head gratefully. 

Then a piercing scream penetrated the silence. Pain distorted the voice but Jim knew without doubt it was Blair. He started to run. Out of the office, into the crowded corridor, he pushed people aside, shoving without thought. Blair screamed again, urging his weary body on to move, to help, to protect. 

Jim burst into the tiny hospital room when another pitiful wail cut through the air. Two orderlies and a nurse worked on Blair, moving him from the position on his stomach to his left side. 

"What are you doing?" Jim shouted, determined to prevent more suffering. He rushed to Blair's side, taking his hand while the young man stared at him with unfocused eyes. "Shhhh, everything will be alright, Chief. Nobody's gonna hurt you, nobody...you hear me?" Blair shivered under his touch. 

"Mr. Ellison, your friend needs to be moved to avoid soreness," the doctor's voice sounded from the open door. 

"J-im...." Blair's shivering increased. 

"Easy, Blair... they'll give you something for the pain." Jim pinned the doctor with an angry glare. "Do it, damnit!" 

"He's not due yet for another dose, sir," the doctor informed, his old features soft and caring. He stepped closer to the bed, surprising Jim and the staff as he crouched down in front of Blair. 

"Young man, I know how you feel but you have to be strong. Tomorrow your friend here will take you home," he spoke quietly as if soothing a crying child. "I'll come by later and give you something to rest. In the morning, I'll check on you again and you will be able to sleep during the flight home." He reached out and brushed a curl out of Blair's forehead. "There won't be any pain." 

Blair's pained gaze shifted and he slowly focused on the physician. "I want to go home," he whispered. 

"I'll take you home, Chief," Jim reassured thickly, throwing the doctor a grateful look. "You'll be home before you know it." He squeezed Blair's hand gently, and Blair squeezed back. 

"I want to go home," Blair repeated brokenly. 

"Sir, why don't you try and get some rest as well," the doctor suggested, noticing the detective's ragged appearance. "Your friend needs to be cleaned up and..." 

"I'll be staying," Jim stated firmly. "I can sleep when we're... at home," he added, smiling a little at the acceleration in Blair's heart rate at the mention of the word 'home'. It seemed to work miracles. 

The doctor nodded as if he hadn't expected anything else. "Very well. I'll talk to you later and will give you an update on his condition as well as the report for your doctors as I had promised." 

"Thank you, doctor," Jim looked up briefly. "For everything." 

The doctor left the room while the orderlies and nurse worked on Blair. From his position beside the bed, Jim couldn't see what they did. However, Blair had a tight hold on his hand and occasionally he moaned. 

"Jim?" 

"Right here, sweetheart." Jim forced his facial muscles to smile when moist eyes riveted on him. 

Blair flinched then and squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't stop the flow of silent tears. Everything hurt. The gleaming fire in his buttocks was ever present but still worse was the deep muscle ache when even the slightest bit of pressure threatened to overwhelm him. Changing the wound dressings earlier, he'd vomited into the bed from the pain. The soft gauze pad had seemed to knife into his flesh. Now, he felt the nurse's gentle and yet tormenting hands on his ass again. She said something he didn't understand but he tensed up immediately. She separated his swollen cheeks carefully, applying a cool and soothing ointment to the welts. 

"Jim?" He gasped, crushing Jim's hand violently. 

"Just hold onto me, Chief. She'll be finished soon," the loving voice promised. 

"I-- I wanted to g-go home s-sso badly," Blair hissed. 

Jim's eyes burned from unshed tears. "I got your passport back today and the rest of your stuff. We'll be home soon." 

"It was so terrible, I couldn't stand it... ." He groaned when a sudden warm flow gushed into his colon. "They...allowed me ...to choose... I... chose..." 

"I know you did, Chief, and you've been so brave," Jim praised, not knowing what else to say. "I don't know if I would've had the guts to endure what you did." 

"It... it was the only choice...I had. I'm sorry," Blair moaned. 

"You don't have to apologize for anything, Chief. You didn't know and what they did to you was cruel." Jim reached out to stroke Blair's face. He caught a few tears while trying to smooth away the tight lines of pain. "It wasn't your fault at all, you hear me?" 

"I was so scared, Jim." Blair leaned into the caress, the rhythmic circles soothing him. "I... didn't want them to touch me." 

Jim's breath caught in his throat. The doctor hadn't mentioned anything about a sexual assault. "They didn't touch you, Blair, did they?" The question caused him physical pain as his stomach revolted against the unthinkable. 

Blair shook his head slowly, turning minutely to whisper into Jim's palm. "No... they...they tried but I didn't... let them." He inhaled the scent of Jim's skin, savoring the musk texture while longing for those hands to hold him again. 

Relief surged through Jim. He continued to stroke the distorted face. "You've been so strong, Chief. I wish I could've been here earlier to spare you the ..." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry, I didn't make it." 

"My Blessed Protector," Blair sighed, his body relaxing a little as the tension in his gut lessened. Behind him the nurse finished her work and he whimpered softly when she covered him with a thin sheet. Although it only rested on his right buttock as he was still on his side, the light pressure was enough to evoke new pain. 

Seeing his lover's distress, Jim leaned closer. The position was awkward and knowing he couldn't move Blair without causing additional discomfort, he carefully put his arm around the trembling body. It wasn't a hug, not even a half one, but as he leaned in even closer, Blair snuggled against him, absorbing the closeness gratefully. 

* * *

The 14-hour flight back to Cascade went smoothly. Heavily sedated, Blair slept through the plane ride while Jim stood sentry and watched out for his guide until they safely touched down. He couldn't sleep although every fiber of his body screamed for relief. He tuned in to Blair's calm heartbeat; seeking comfort in the fact that the young man was getting some undisturbed, if yet medically induced rest. An IV with fluids and antibiotics still ran into the veins while the various tubes and bags took care of his bodily functions. Jim kept his hand on Blair's shoulder, hoping the affectionate touch would somehow register with his sleeping mind. 

After the unendurable humidity of the South Pacific, the pouring rain of Cascade seemed like a peaceful cleansing. Jim watched the thick raindrops bursting open against the windows, their cadence alleviating his inner turmoil. Mesmerized he concentrated on the mosaic of color, which only he could see. 

"Jim?" The deep voice of his captain pulled him back from the threatening zone out. He jerked a little, and then turned around to look into the concerned face. 

"Simon thanks for coming," Jim said, rubbing at his eyes. 

Simon's exasperated "what did you expect?" look was lost on the Sentinel. "How is he, Jim?" 

"The doctor is with him right now. They sedated him for the transport and last time I saw him he was still asleep," Jim informed, adding a quiet, "Thank God." 

The tall captain nodded grimly. "How are you holding up?" 

Almost startled, Jim looked up. "Me?" He laughed hoarsely. "I'm fine, Simon. Just fine." He spread his arms and let them fall to his sides again. "I'm splendid, captain, never been better. Nobody shredded my ass into pieces with a fucking rattan cane!" 

"Jim," Simon began, touching his friend's shoulder. "It's okay to be angry. What--" 

"Angry?" Another cheerless laugh erupted from Jim's throat. "I'm way beyond angry, sir! I'm so fucking _mad_ that I wanted to go down into that damned courthouse and blow them all away with a flame thrower!" Jim shouted, his face turning red with rage. "But do you know why I didn't? Do you know what kept me sane?" He pointed to the closed door of Blair's hospital room. "He needed me." Jim took a shaky breath. "He needed me and I wasn't there _in time_!" 

There was so much anguish in those words. Simon didn't know what to say as he looked into the moist eyes of his detective. He stepped closer. Briefly he wondered if he did the right thing but before his brain would interfere with a move of his heart, he quickly pulled the hurting man into a warm embrace. Expecting an immediate struggle, he was surprised to feel Ellison's arms coming around him, holding on tightly. 

"You _were_ there when he needed you, Jim," Simon assured softly. He held Jim close but yet loose in case the other man needed his space again. He'd never seen Ellison as shaken up; never felt somebody's pain like it was his own. 

"Sandburg did this to you," Jim snorted suddenly and both men chuckled. "Total mush, sir." 

Simon grinned, his tall frame towering over Jim's head. "Whatever it takes, Ellison." 

Jim stepped back and briskly wiped his eyes. "Thanks, Simon..." He sighed. 

Both men turned around as a young doctor stepped out of Blair's room. They looked at him expectantly, both relaxing immediately at the reassuring smile that greeted them. 

"I'm Dr. Taylor," the dark-haired man introduced himself. Instead of the regular hospital attire, he wore a blue lab coat over a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt. Exhausted, but humorous eyes sparkled behind their frame of glasses. 

"Jim Ellison, Blair's partner," Jim shook his hand. "This is Captain Simon Banks." 

"Dr. Taylor." Simon nodded. 

"I must confess that I've never seen anything like this," the doctor began. He indicated a report on his chart. "This report from the local physician shed some light on what must've happened to Mr. Sandburg." 

"It seemed to be a quite common occurrence down there," Jim confirmed grimly. "Like a night in a detox tank over here." 

Taylor nodded. "Indeed. Judicial corporal punishment is sadly a widespread matter of course in many countries. Human rights organizations fight for its abandonment but there's still a long way to go. Over here nobody really knows what such harsh punishments entail. What's a few strokes with a cane, right?" He sighed, shaking his head. 

"How's Blair doing, doctor?" Jim asked, the doctor's brief speech sending newborn chills up and down his spine. Beside him, Simon had listened stoically. 

"He's still resting comfortably right now," Dr. Taylor informed. "We will gradually reduce the sedation so that he will wake up sometime tomorrow." He raised his hand to still Jim's comment. "That does not mean we won't make him as comfortable as possible." 

"We will leave him on a strong dose of antibiotics to fight infection. I assume the medical facilities weren't the best." Taylor looked at Jim for confirmation but the Sentinel just stared ahead. "He's developed a slight fever but that's no reason for concern just yet." 

"The open wounds on his posterior are severe and will need quite some time to heal properly. Scarring will most likely occur as the welt and lashes went deep into the skin but that should be the least of our concern. The bruising reaches profoundly into the muscles. Our exam also revealed a couple of welts on the backside of his scrotum. I assume they were caused by accidental mishaps due to the position he was in as he received the caning." 

Dr. Taylor consulted his chart again. "When he wakes up, he will be in considerable pain. That and the trauma from the punishment itself might lead to a delayed shock reaction." He sighed. "At the same time, he needs to get back on his feet quickly. Walking, sitting down, using the bathroom will seem to be an impossible chore for him at first." 

"How long will you be keeping him here?" Jim asked, remembering Blair's whispered pleas to go home. 

"Depending on his vitals, I see no reason to keep him here any longer than necessary." Dr. Taylor smiled disarmingly. "Maybe the prospect of being home by the end of the week would help his state of mind." 

* * *

He'd forgotten the numbers. Their foreign texture had slipped his memory, leaving behind a blank gap where he thought he'd stored the information. He couldn't have forgotten! After another long and frightening night in the cell, he'd memorized the figures, one to twenty-two. Fear of the unknown and fear of his cellmates had robbed his sleep yet again - but he'd learned to count the numbers. How on earth did he forget? 

He screamed insanely and struggled weakly against the strong arms that dragged him back. Back into the cell because he'd failed to count properly. His ass was on fire, the bloody mass of torn skin turning each move into hellish agony. He sobbed like a child, the mental image of suffering through the ordeal the next day again too much for his exhausted being to handle. He wanted to go home. The desperate wish hurt deep inside him, becoming foremost in his mind. He'd made the choice and failed to count. 

Lying in his own blood and waste, Blair tried to crawl back into his corner, the little safe haven he'd preserved with his vigil. However, as his body gave out from the pain, he saw the shadows descending on him. His hungry cellmates finally came for him. 

Then somebody called him 'Chief'. 

Blair jerked awake at the gentle but yet firm touch on his shoulder. For a moment he stared at the white pillowcase under his head, disorientation clouding his tired brain. Hadn't he just been back in that rotten cell? Beaten and broken? Dreading a repetition of the same torment, 'cause he'd forgotten the numbers... 

But he was here now. The soothing touch remained, grounding him to reality, protecting him from the shadows. 

"Jim?" He tried the name, too afraid to turn his head for fear he was still back...there. 

"Hey, Chief, I thought you might be awake," Jim's voice spoke from somewhere behind him. The hand stayed on his shoulder, squeezing carefully. "How are you feeling?" 

"Jim?" Blair verified, listening as the sound of his lover's name reverberated through the room. He almost sobbed in relief when Jim spoke again. 

"Right here, love." 

Blair turned his head slightly, finally making out the muscular figure beside his bed. "Is this home?" he asked hesitantly, the white sheets indicating otherwise. 

A smile laced Jim's next words. "You're almost there, buddy. You're still at the hospital in Cascade." 

"Cascade," Blair murmured gratefully. "I want to go home, Jim," he added, trying to flex his shoulders to make Jim's hand move. He sighed blissfully when the soothing massage finally continued. 

"The doc said you could go home today," Jim explained, roaming in large circles across Blair's back. 

"Now?" Blair pushed himself up a little and groaned immediately as his abused muscles protested. Jim's hand stilled momentarily. 

"Take it easy, Chief, one step at a time." 

"Oh God, it hurts, Jim," Blair moaned into the pillow. Also he could feel the unmistakable pull of a catheter still in his bladder. 

"I know, love, I know," Jim's face was suddenly close. He kissed Blair's cheeks gently while stroking the long hair. "You're going to be sore for quite a while but everything will be alright." 

"I don't think I can move, Jim." Blair shifted his body a bit. Sweat broke out on his face as he tried to bend his legs to get some leverage. Exhausted already from the tiny movement he fell back against the pillow. 

"What do you say if we try some clothes first?" Jim suggested. 

Blair's eyes grew fearfully. The thought of adding pressure to his constantly aching seat made his heart beat faster. He feared new pain like he hadn't feared anything else in his life before. "I-- I don't think that is such a good idea, Jim," he began. His palms started to sweat. 

Jim stroked his hair again. "You can't leave this place buck naked, Chief." Holding up a plastic bag, he smiled reassuringly. "I've got some silk pajamas for you." He noticed Blair's apprehensive look and flexed his eyebrows. "That's pretty decadent, don't you think?" 

"It's gonna hurt," Blair whispered, watching while Jim pulled out the deep blue garment. 

Jim sighed, at a loss of what to say. "Chief, I know you must be hurting but look at the bright side. I'll help you put this on and you can go home immediately." He smiled again, Blair's petrified face looking up at him. "It's your choice," he added lightly. 

Go home immediately. 

Make a choice. 

Twenty-two strokes. 

Blair began to shake and small whimpers escaped his throat as his mind revolved around his choice. His heart started pounding, much too fast, and he could feel its pumping at the back of his throat. Breathing became difficult. Oblivious to the presence beside him, he tried to curl up on his side, while reciting the count in a language he didn't even understand. 

Terrified, Jim witnessed the odd behavior. "Blair, what's wrong?" he asked in a low voice, his hand hovering minutely over Blair's trembling shoulder. He was afraid to touch him and cause more panic. "Talk to me, buddy," he pleaded forlornly. He could deal with a hurting Blair but he'd never experienced paralyzing hysteria like this. 

Cruel, twenty-two strokes whipped down on his skin. Hopelessly Blair chanted the practiced numbers and writhed in his bonds, his body becoming weaker with each hideous hit. Blood mixed with urine again but he didn't feel any embarrassment. There was nothing left in him to fight, so he gave into the pain that enveloped him mercilessly. In a remote corner of his being though, the overwhelming desire to go home remained. 

Jim sat on the edge of the bed. Blair twisted and turned frantically as if trying to escape the invisible force that had captured him. The young man moaned miserably, the sudden strain on his injuries probably adding to his nightmare. The heart-rending sounds vibrated through the room and Jim immediately noticed the pungent odor. Between ringing for help and trying to calm his lover, he started talking again, hoping his familiar voice would somehow penetrate the shield of fear. 

"Chief, come back to me, you hear me? You're safe; nobody's going to hurt you anymore." He stroked the trembling back carefully, while keeping up his soothing litany. "We go home, Chief, okay? Let's go home..." 

Home. 

Blair stilled at the word. Who'd promise him home? Who'd let him go without asking for his choice? Who'd call him... 

Chief. 

"Jim?" he rasped, blinking at his surroundings in surprise. He was in a hospital. The cell had vanished. 

"Chief, are you with me again?" Jim asked kindly, relieved at Blair's tentative nod into the pillow. 

"I WANT to go home now." Blair's voice shook badly yet the words were spoken with such empathy that the Sentinel took a deep, cleansing breath before reassuring his younger friend. 

"Anytime, Chief. Just say the word." 

"What's the problem?" Dr. Taylor entered the room, a nurse on his heels. Blair flinched at the sudden intrusion, burying his face into the pillow as if he was trying to hide. 

Jim turned around partially, throwing a warning glance at the two newcomers. "I think he had some sort of flashback," he explained quietly. "I can't say what triggered it. All of a sudden he..." He shrugged helplessly. "It just happened." 

The young doctor nodded comprehendingly. Slowly as not to startle his patient he walked around Jim who still sat on the edge of the bed. Crouching down, he smiled gently into the frightened blue eyes. 

"We haven't had the chance to meet yet. I'm Dr. Taylor," he introduced himself. "I'm glad to see you're finally awake. Do you know where you are?" 

Blair stared at the doctor's colorful outfit quizzically for a moment. His gaze travelled to Jim who nodded reassuringly, then back to the crouching figure. "Cascade," he replied finally, smiling shyly at the sparkle in Taylor's eyes. 

"Your friend Jim told me you're eager to go home, aren't you?" 

After a moment of silence Blair just nodded but his expressive eyes translated his longing. 

Dr. Taylor managed to capture Blair's wrist to measure his pulse without startling the man. "So... what would you say if I officially release you at..." he made a dramatic gesture to look at his watch. "... 12.32 p.m. today. Provided, of course, you show me you can get up and walk a little." 

"I can go home?" 

"You bet," Taylor nodded enthusiastically. 

"Now?" The single word bore more insecurity than Jim could bear. He stroked Blair's hair. "As the doc said, Chief, you can go now." 

Blair sighed. "Okay." 

"I've arranged for a stretcher and an ambulance to make the ride as comfortable as possible," Dr. Taylor said. 

"Thank you, doc," Jim nodded his gratitude, knowing that Blair was in for another inadvertent round of pain as soon as he would have to move. 

"It's too expensive," Blair murmured. "I can--" 

"Don't worry about it, Chief." 

"Your insurance covers such things, Blair," Dr. Taylor added and watched his patient carefully for a moment. "Would you like me to update you on your condition?" he inquired. 

"No." Blair shook his head vigorously. The thought of listening to any medical explanations knotted his stomach, seething against the memories such descriptions would bring. The radiating pain was remembrance enough. However, there was another terror lurking in the hidden corners of his mind; a maze of pictures kept flashing through his head, mingling nightmares and reality. He dreaded to ask for fear of a truth he couldn't handle but he needed to know. 

"Not a problem." Dr. Taylor scribbled on the chart. "I'm gonna prescribe some pain killers as well as another round of antibiotics and I'd like to see you again in a week for a check-up." He nodded towards Jim. "Mr. Ellison has my card. Feel free to contact me anytime." 

"Dr. Taylor?" Blair's voice was almost inaudible. "Did... " He closed his eyes as the panic threatened to collapse over him. "Did they...r-rape me?" 

Jim sat up straight at the impossible question, remembering Blair's earlier assurance that he nobody had touched him. The quivering in Blair's voice though proved his confusion and fright. Jim grabbed the nearest hand and held it tightly. "God, Chief..." he whispered. 

Taylor seemed equally startled at the inquiry. "We did a thorough examination when you were admitted yesterday, Blair. I can assure you there was no indication of a sexual assault." He smiled as both men relaxed at his words. 

"Thanks," Jim said, while Blair still clenched his hand fiercely. His eyes were moist with tears. 

"Feel better soon." The sympathetic young doctor squeezed Blair's hand. Then he turned to Jim and extended his hand. 

"Make sure he sticks to the instructions I gave you earlier," the physician reminded him. Casting another concerned look at Blair, he continued, "The flashbacks might keep coming for a while. If you want I could recommend a good therapist as well as some humanitarian organizations that deal with this kind of trauma." 

Jim clenched his jaws, dreading such an option but he knew Blair's mental recovery would probably take longer than the horrid injuries. "Thank you, Dr. Taylor." 

The physician crouched down in front of Blair again. "Blair? The nurse will now remove your catheter and help you out of bed. I would like to see you walk to the bathroom then and try to urinate, okay?" 

Blair nodded slowly. "Okay." 

It was anything but 'okay' for it took many groans and moans and whispers of encouragement until the anthropologist was in an almost vertical position. Removal of the catheter had been endured in stoic silence, accompanied by a grimace. However, hunched over, Blair tried a first tentative step, but his knees buckled almost instantly. 

"Jim!" he gasped, clinging to the strong arms which held him upright. 

"It's okay, Chief, you're doing great," Jim praised. Blair started to shake in his arms already, the short, painful journey out of bed and onto his feet leaving him breathless and close to tears yet again. "I've got you, Blair, don't worry. Try to relax. You don't have to go far." 

"Oh, FUCK!" Blair exclaimed after yet another small step. 

Jim almost chuckled. The swear word sounded like music to his ears after the emotional breakdown earlier. "That's it, Chief. You did it!" 

"SHIT!" Blair panted heavily, trying to make his legs move. The smallest motion sent stabs of pain through his butt, where the nerves seemed too raw, ready to tear apart any second. "Jim..." He grabbed a fist full of Jim's shirt, as he finally straightened up. "Oh, God... it feels like I'm... tearing apart." 

"Don't worry, Chief, you're doing great. Nothing can happen, okay?" He put an arm around Blair's waist, mindful of how close he was getting to the hurting posterior. "Is this okay?" he asked while they laboriously made their way through the small hospital room. 

Blair nodded, his breath too precious to waste it for an answer. 

Dr. Taylor watched his progress sympathetically. 

"You know what, buddy? You're doing so great that I bet you could walk home. Since the gas prices increased considerably..." Jim joked, hoping the well-meant teasing would be received as such. He grinned at the indignant look Blair gave him despite his misery. Oh yes, that was the Blair he recognized. 

"Very funny," Blair muttered. "I'd laugh if it wouldn't hurt so much." 

Jim sobered quickly, noticing Blair's pale face and the fine sheet of sweat on his forehead. "Only a little further, buddy. You're on the home stretch now." 

As the bathroom came into view, Blair groaned with relief. "Oh, man, I don't think I can make it any further." 

"You did very well, Blair," Dr. Taylor called from behind. "I'll sign your release papers as well as your prescriptions. You'll be home soon." 

Blair's eyes became moist as he trusted Jim to hold him upright a little while longer. He was going home now. 

Home. 

* * *

Soothing tunes of a tropical rain burbled through the loft. Jim had selected the CD from Sandburg's wide variety of tribal, earth and meditation rhythms, figuring, a much as HE liked it, Carlos Santana wasn't the right background music for now. 

Blair had slept through the drive home, his drained body requesting sleep to rest and heal. Now he rested on a colorful arrangement of pillows and blankets. Lying on his stomach, he moved occasionally in his sleep. Sometimes he murmured inaudibly. Since Blair's injuries would probably make him uncomfortable performing the simplest tasks, Jim figured that their upstairs bedroom was out of the question for the time being. However, instead of shoving him back into his old bedroom, Jim couldn't bring himself to abandon his lover. So, he'd refurbished their living room a little, creating a snug oasis in front of the fireplace where they could both sleep. Jim grinned, pleased with his idea. 

The Sentinel's awareness focused on the minute change in Blair's breathing pattern. He took the bowl of warm vanilla dessert and walked over to the new sleeping area. As he sat down beside the prone figure, Blair stirred. 

"I don't know about you, Chief, but there's an extraordinary bowl of creamy dessert which looks just too good for any earthly descriptions," Jim sank his index finger into the sweet substance and licked it off soundly. 

A little smile curved Blair's lips, a heart-warming gesture that clenched Jim's heart. "What must a lonely, penniless anthropologist do to deserve some of that?" He mumbled, his eyes still closed. For a moment he looked content with himself and the world. 

Jim dove his finger in again but this time he gently nudged Blair's lips. "I don't know, Chief, my list is rather endless." 

Blair opened his mouth slightly. As his tongue darted out and tasted the dessert, he looked up at Jim like a small child who'd been allowed a special treat. "Tastes good." 

"I told you so," Jim replied smilingly, taking another glob for himself. 

"What's the occasion?" Blair asked, licking off Jim's finger again. "I've never seen you cook this before." 

Jim shrugged. "Sally's always made us comfort food when Stephen or I were sick or had cracked open our knees." 

"I like Sally," Blair murmured sleepily. Then his eyes opened a bit more and he added, almost huskily, "...and I love this." 

"There's more where that came from if you feel up to it," Jim said with a smile. 

"I don't want to move just yet," Blair confessed. "It's just too perfect right now." He pushed himself onto an elbow, accepting another feeding. 

"How are you feeling?" 

Blair was silent for a moment. "Better," he said at last. "... Now that I'm home." He reached out for Jim's hand and licked off another glob, whirling his tongue deliberately around the sweet digit. "You taste good." 

Jim interpreted the gesture as an obvious tactic to change the subject and not discuss his condition. He re-claimed his finger, coated it again and licked it off. Then he bent forward and pressed a pudding-sweet kiss on Blair's lips. "Ditto," he whispered against the slightly cracked lips - another unsettling evidence of the ordeal suffered. 

Blair yawned. "I'm so tired, man," he mumbled, his head dropping back on the pillows. 

"Why don't you try and sleep some more?" Jim suggested, brushing over the mass of curls that now covered Blair's face. "And when you wake up again we'll have a nice dinner, maybe watch a little TV, huh?" 

Blair exhaled loudly, blowing a few locks out of his vision. "Sounds nice." He looked up at his lover again. "What time is it any--?" He broke off as he took in their surroundings for the first time. His eyes widened, darting from the cozy lagoon of pillows to Jim's face. "What...why did you do this?" he asked finally, obviously surprised. 

Jim shrugged. "I figured you'd rather not climb the stairs." 

"I could've slept in my old room," Blair pointed out but he looked visibly pleased at the unusual bedding. "You didn't have to do this." 

"To be honest with you, Chief, it was a rather selfish reason," Jim began, brushing another strand of curls out of Blair's face and lingering on a cheek for a moment. "I couldn't stand the thought of spending another night alone." 

Blair swallowed, his eyes becoming moist. "I wanted to come home so badly, Jim," he whispered, leaning into the hand that cupped his cheek. 

"Hey...," Jim positioned the pudding bowl on the coffee table and then stretched out beside his distraught lover. He kissed away a lone tear that slowly trickled down Blair's face. "You're home now, sweetheart. I'm glad you came back." He weaved his hand through the long hair again. 

Blair nodded mutely but didn't look up. The teasing playfulness was gone. "I'm sorry to cause so much trouble, Jim," he apologized. "I... I--" 

Jim stilled the apology with another kiss on the quivering lips. "You don't cause any trouble, Chief. Nothing of this was your fault, nothing at all." 

"I... I could've ch-chosen th n-n- ninety days." 

"What do you mean?" Jim asked gently. He was glad that Blair started to talk about his ordeal but at the same time it was disturbing to see the mental anguish it caused. "You had no choice, Blair--" 

Blair's head whipped up suddenly. His eyes blind with tears, but there was also rage and anger. "YES, I did, Jim, and I made my choice!" he shouted, making Jim's flinch at the unexpected outburst. "They were so fucking generous, man, to offer either 90 days in that rat hole they called jail or a public punishment." He laughed bitterly. "Some damned choice, right? So, I thought let's go for the corporal punishment, how bad could it be? Only t-t-t---wwwwenty t-t-two strokes." 

"Calm down, Chief, it's okay...," Jim began and tried to touch Blair's face again. However, Blair swatted at his hand, his anger directed at an invisible source he couldn't reach anymore. 

"It is NOT okay, man! I chose this. I gave in to their abnormal punishment to get out of there at all costs." The tears streamed down Blair's face now. "It was my own, deliberate choice!" He tried to push himself up and curl his knees. He hissed as the pain in his bottom made the movement almost impossible. 

Jim took his arms in a tender grip. "Listen to me, Blair. They might have made you choose but choosing between two gruesome punishments is NO option. You didn't really have a choice, do you understand me?" He squeezed the trembling limbs. "This was _not_ your fault, love." 

Blair lowered his gaze again. "I know..." His shoulders shook. "I missed you so much, Jim. They .... made me stay in that cell....and.... I was so ....scared, so scared." 

Carefully, Jim engulfed the shuddering body into his arms. "Shhhh, you're safe now. Everything will be alright." He kissed the mop of hair. "I missed you, too, Chief." 

When Blair moaned, he pulled back slightly. "Am I hurting you?" The position was awkward but the young man shook his head. 

"Don't let go," he almost pleaded, reaching around with one arm to circle Jim's waist. 

"Never, Chief," Jim promised. 

* * *

The tranquillizing scent of Jim's homemade lasagna woke Blair a couple of hours later. A few candles sat on the coffee table, bathing the loft in a warm light. Blair pushed his hair back and looked over at the tall figure puttering quietly around in the kitchen. As if on cue, Jim's head turned around. 

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, you're always right on time for dinner," the Sentinel announced. "Are you hungry yet?" 

"Starved," Blair admitted, his spirits awakening at the thought of the special dinner treat. He carefully rolled on his side. He grimaced at the discomfort and also noticed another, literally, pressing matter. 

"Jim?" He called out hesitantly. "I could use some help, man." He smiled gratefully when his lover was at his side with a few quick strides. 

"What is it, Chief?" Crouching down, Jim eyed him with concern. 

"I need to get up," Blair said, pushing himself up on his arms. 

"Why? What's wrong?" 

Blair groaned as he could already feel the strain any movement caused on his bottom. "I need to go to the bathroom. NOW!" The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. 

Jim relaxed. "Just take it easy, Chief." He chuckled as Blair threw him an incredulous glance. "Okay, okay, I understand that it's a matter of _time_. Just hang on. We'll take care of it immediately." With that he quickly jogged into the bathroom and returned moments later with a plastic urinal. 

"Doc Taylor suggested you might want to use this for a day or until until you are more mobile," Jim explained, kneeling down beside him. 

Blair stared at the bottle. "Oh, _great_ ," he mumbled, disgust evident in his voice. "Can my day get any worse?" 

"You don't have to feel embarrassed about this, Chief," Jim said gently. "Been there, done that." He winked. 

Blair rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. "Okay, let's do this," he announced, struggling to throw the blanket away. 

"Here, let me help you," Jim offered, assisting Blair to roll onto his side with a few accompanying grunts and groans. 

"Just shoot me, man," Blair moaned as he reached inside his pajama pants to free his penis. He shuddered suddenly as a light breeze wavered through the air. 

"Nah, give it another day or two and you'll reconsider," Jim joked. "And I'd have wasted a bullet." 

Blair tried a weak smile, not quite able to share the well-meant humor. He was cold, his exposed state adding to the shivers that ran through his body. 

Exposed. 

Naked. 

For everybody to see. 

"You okay, buddy?" Jim frowned a little as he detected a definite surge in Blair's heart rate. 

Greedy glances... 

...by a rapt audience. 

Somebody kicked his legs apart. 

"Blair?" 

"I'd rather like to go to the bathroom, Jim." Blair looked at Jim with pained eyes. "Please..." 

"What is it?" Jim touched Blair's arm gently. "Talk to me, babe." 

"P-please... don't look." 

Jim's eyes took on a look of infinite tenderness. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Chief. Just remember who you're with." 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut but the first few tears escaped. " _Please_." He wrenched the word from his lips as if it caused him physical pain. 

"I'm not looking," Jim promised. "Nobody's looking at you, Chief." He cupped Blair's cheek, catching the silent tears. "Try to relax, babe, and let it go." 

Too caught up his nightmarish memories, Blair wasn't able to relieve himself. His muscles trembled with tension and his mind battled with a fear originating deep inside him. Soon, the pressure on his bladder became painful and he tried to curl his legs, whimpering softly. 

Seeing his lover's distress, Jim reached out. He touched Blair stomach carefully, immediately soothing him as he flinched. "I won't look, Blair, but let me help, okay?" Roaming over the silk pajama top, he pressed down lightly. 

"Please...," Blair repeated brokenly and buried his face into the pillows. 

"Easy...relax." Jim continued to whisper soft words of encouragement, while applying more pressure to Blair's abdomen. 

When the gentle drizzle finally started to fill the urinal, Blair let out a heart-breaking sob of relief mingled with humiliation. Through the maze of tears he could see Jim's eyes looking at him. 

Lovingly. 

Hurting. 

Helplessly. 

Recognizing the evident pain in Jim's eyes that matched his, Blair reached out with his free hand. "Sorry...I'll... be ... okay, Jim," he croaked. 

"I know you are," Jim replied hoarsely, grasping the offered hand. 

"Don't worry about me," Blair said, blinking away the tears. 

Jim kissed the hand he held. "I worry because I love you." 

"I love you, too." Blair tried a smile. "I... don't know what's wrong with me." 

"Nothing's wrong with you, Chief. Your mind plays nasty tricks on you once in a while," Jim replied, taking away the full bottle. "It takes its own time to heal." 

"They ... stared at me," Blair whispered. "I tried to hide but... I couldn't move... couldn't cover myself... couldn't get away." His deep blue eyes reflected the humiliation he'd suffered. "They took my clothes..." 

"Oh, Chief, I wish I could've been there earlier," Jim said, smoothing the hair out of Blair's forehead. From the few words he could only imagine the horrible conditions in that prison and how humiliating and frightening those four long days must've been for Blair. 

"You're safe now," he added lamely, not knowing what else to say. 

* * *

Cautiously, Blair stretched and bent his legs. The muscles in his backside protested instantaneously and he bit his lip against the flaring pain. 

"What is it, buddy?" Jim asked immediately, walking into the living room. Intoxicating smells weaved through the air again as they had decided on a little close-to- midnight snack. 

Blair looked up and chuckled. Jim wore his ridiculous flower apron, a wooden spoon in one hand. "You look so _girlie_ , man," he said, shaking his head. His long hair fell onto his forehead but he didn't really know how to push it back as he used both arms to prop himself up. 

Jim shrugged, grinning. "Whatever it takes. The sauce'll be ready in a few minutes." 

"Do you think you could abandon your important task for a second and use your _manly_ strength to help me up?" Blair tried to curl his legs under himself, grimacing at the strain. 

Jim was at his side in a heartbeat. "Why do you wanna get up, Chief? If you need the bathroom again..." 

Blair shook his head. "Just _because_ , man. I need to get moving again before everything becomes stiff." He rolled his eyes as Jim grinned suddenly. "Cut it out, Ellison. I couldn't get it up if my life depended on it." 

"I didn't say anything." Amused and relieved at his partner's good mood, Jim gripped one of his arms. "Just say when, Chief." 

"Gimme a sec," Blair said, trying to brace himself for the pain he knew would come the moment he got moving. Then he nodded, "Okay." 

If at all possible, it was worse than the first time he'd tried to get up at the hospital. His muscles were sore from the abuse and stiff from the prolonged bed rest. Blair groaned as Jim pulled him gingerly to his feet. Once standing, he leaned against Jim's chest. 

"It was a crappy idea, man," he moaned into the folds of the flower apron. 

Jim's arms came around him, supporting most of his weight and yet giving the warm comfort of the trademark Ellison hugs. "You're doing great, love. I know it hurts bad at the moment but you were right. You have to get moving or things get worse." 

"I hate it when I'm right," Blair mumbled. However, the pain became bearable after a while when his muscles got used to the upright position. 

"Okay, what now?" Jim asked, as he felt Blair relax in his arms. 

"Kitchen," Blair directed and took a deep breath. 

It seemed to take forever and in the end they barely made it. Blair's steps were small and hesitant, while the knowledge that each movement would add more agony made his muscles tense up. Halfway through, Blair gasped and fiercely squeezed Jim's arms that held him upright. 

"Jim, I don't think... this was such a good idea," Blair groaned, his face sweaty. He cast a longing glance at the kitchen counter, which seemed to be at the other end of the world. 

"You're almost there, buddy. You can do it," Jim encouraged, wondering if he should try and carry his lover back to their bed. 

Blair nodded and straightened his back. "Next time I want you to talk me out of it, okay?" Taking another deep breath, he began walking again. He reached out with his hand and soon the solid surface of the kitchen counter provided the finishing line. 

"Oh _shit_!" Blair exclaimed as he leaned against the counter, his body trembing with the effort. 

Jim watched him worriedly. "Do you want to...," he trailed off before he could utter the suggestion. Sitting down was definitely out of the question. "What now?" he asked as Blair managed to get his ragged breathing under control. 

"I wanna taste your sauce," Blair announced, balancing on his feet, testing the strength of his muscles. While his backside still constantly hurt and the short walk had definitely exhausted him, he could feel the progress already. 

Jim chuckled. "That can be done, I guess." He walked behind the counter and stirred the sauce. 

"It's not too bad," Blair commented after tasting a spoon full of sauce. 

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Not too bad?" He tasted the sauce himself. 

"I meant... things down there." Blair gestured vaguely towards his injured bottom. "It was really good to get up." With one hand on the counter for support he carefully walked over where Jim was standing. Then he grabbed Jim's hand that held the spoon and quickly licked it off. 

"Hey!" Jim complained with feigned anger. "That's _my_ spoon..." With that he placed a quick kiss on Blair's lips, tasting the lingering sauce on the velvet flesh. 

And Blair laughed, briefly and sweetly. 

* * *

The demons came to him at night. Crawling into his subconscious they tore at his sanity and transported him into the pandemonium of torment. Helplessly he followed; unable to resist or fight... he followed. Invisible shackles held him in place, on display for everybody and nobody to see. He fought against his bonds but there was a force that was yet stronger than his physical strength. 

The cane whistled through the air and he wanted to cover his ears against the nerve-grating sound. However, the restraints held him in place, immobilizing him to suffer the agony. In a split second, the cane had reached its target. Muscles flinched and the marvelous skin opened under the brute force of the impact. He screamed in shock, his whole body shaking with the stroke while his mind couldn't digest what was happening. Belatedly, he screamed out his terror, his eyes wide with shock. He screamed again as more strokes descended like a burning rain of acid. Then there was only one long, never-ending scream, ripped from the core of his being. 

The torment wouldn't stop. Blood trailed down his thighs and he jerked in his bonds again fruitlessly, weakening with each horrid hit. When it finally was over, he hung limply in his shackles. His throat was raw from screaming and the last drop of saliva pearled down his chin. His breath came in short gasps and there were hot tears streaming down his face. 

Tears of pain, tears of helplessness, tears of rage. Through his troubled vision he saw the slender figure. Dark blue eyes met his in an accusing, hateful stare and the gentle timbre of the voice he loved hissed the words. 

"WHERE have you BEEN?" Blair spat at him before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in his bonds. 

Jim bolted upright with a cry on his lips. For a moment he stared into the darkness while his enhanced vision quickly compensated. He was at the loft, his foggy brain provided the information. Looking around frantically, he saw the pile of blankets beside him. 

Blair was sleeping peacefully. 

"Oh my God," Jim panted, his chest heaving almost painfully. He ran a hand over his face and it came back wet with sweat. Without much success he tried to calm his raging heart. Taking a few deep breaths, he got up quietly. In the bathroom he glared blankly at his pale reflection in the mirror. For a few long minutes he just stared, trying to clear his vision from the hellish images in his mind. Finally he opened the tap and let cold water run over his wrists and arms. 

"Oh, sweet Lord," he muttered when he splashed some water into his face. Soon he began to shiver, if it was from the cold moisture or belated shock he couldn't say. Gripping the sink tightly, he looked up to stare into the mirror again. He jerked and stepped back in shock, when Blair's gentle features looked back at him. 

"Chief!" he breathed and turned around. 

Blair stood by the door, one arm grabbing the doorframe for support. "You... you were suddenly gone," he explained, startled at Jim's violent reaction. 

"Just needed to use the john," Jim lied, regaining his inner balance slowly. "Are you okay?" he asked, noticing the fine lines of pain on Blair's face. 

"Yeah, I'm good," Blair stepped forward into the bathroom. His gait was slow and deliberate. "You don't look so good, lover. What's going on?" 

Jim made a dismissive gesture. "Everything's fine, Chief. I'm sorry that I woke you." He forced a smile and gently clasped Blair's shoulders, turning him around. "Go back to sleep, love, I hear your bed calling." He cautiously shoved Blair to the door. "I'll be right there." 

"Jim?" Blair stopped outside the door, waiting until Jim's pained expression riveted on him. "I love you so much." 

Jim's heart skipped a bit. "I... I love you, too, Blair," he swallowed thickly. 

"Are... we okay?" Blair asked hesitantly. He looked down at himself. "I know I'm a lot of trouble right now, Jim," he said quietly. 

"You're no trouble, Blair." Jim inhaled deeply staring at his mirror image, avoiding his lover's longing gaze. His words were softly spoken and resigned to the fact that he'd failed to be there when Blair had needed him most. 

And he was failing right now, to offer comfort and love... when Blair needed him most. 

The door closed inaudibly. 

* * *

Blair huddled deeper under the covers. Sleeping on his stomach had become uncomfortable but any attempt to try and roll onto his side or even his back brought unbearable pressure to his behind. He listened to the sounds coming from the bathroom, hoping and dreading that Jim would return soon. He didn't know what had happened all of a sudden, Jim's erratic and cold behavior sent a deep stabbing ache through his soul. 

Jim was his anchor, his knight in shining armor, his Blessed Protector. He always needed Jim but right now this need seemed to become a necessary, life-preserving demand. Jim kept him sane. If it was the silly jokes or kind teasing, it was the little things that made THIS bearable. 

He wanted to forget. With each warm smile Jim carried him back into his old world, rescuing him over and over again from the memories, which would most likely torment him for the rest of his life. His comfort food provided nourishment for a starving soul, which could've grown cold in a dark jail cell. He survived because of Jim who kept the shadows at bay. 

"I need you, Jim," Blair whispered, pulling the blanket tightly around him. 

The bathroom door opened and a few moments later Blair felt Jim's presence as the older man peeled back the covers. Blair's eyes clouded with tears of relief when Jim touched his shoulder gently. 

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said, his face close. "I'm such a jerk sometimes." 

"Just... sometimes?" Blair teased, wiping his eyes quickly. Behind him Jim chuckled but he sobered quickly. 

"I didn't mean to snap at you earlier." Jim kissed him sweetly. "Forgive me?" He reached under the blanket and searched for Blair's waist. Rubbing lovingly, he pulled the smaller body closer. 

"I need you," Blair repeated, lacing fingers with Jim. 

"You've got me, Chief," Jim emphasized. "I'm just so sorry that I couldn't be there when you really needed me." 

Blair turned his head. In the darkness he could hardly make out Jim's face but he knew his lover was looking at him, kindly and warmly. "I _really_ need you now, Jim." The arm around his waist tightened. "You couldn't have prevented it," he stated, realizing what was tormenting his Blessed Protector. "It wasn't your fault. It was just a stupid, stupid mistake _I_ made. I should've paid more attention to what I bought and--" 

Jim silenced his explanations with another kiss. "No what if and no should've, okay? You didn't deserve what they did to you. I wish I could've been there for you." 

"Your couldn't have done anything," Blair mumbled. "I'm really sorry that--" 

Jim kissed him again. "No apologies," he smiled against Blair's lips. "Do you think you could go back to sleep now? We still have a couple of hours." 

"Would you hold on to me a little while longer?" Blair asked, snuggling into the human pillow in front of him. 

"As long as you need me to, love," Jim vowed and rested his arm around Blair's back carefully. 

"Don't tickle!" Blair warned sleepily. 

* * *

Early Sunday morning Jim woke to the rich scent of coffee. At the same time as his senses detected the smell, he noticed that the space beside him was empty. The blankets still carried a residue of warmth indicating that Blair hadn't been up long. He was surprised to see his lover working quietly in the kitchen. The prescribed painkillers should've knocked him out long enough to sleep in. 

"Me thinks one of us didn't set the clock right," Jim yawned as he walked up behind Blair and hugged him carefully, avoiding most of the body contact. "Morning, love," he kissed Blair's mouth as Blair turned his head. 

"Hey, Jim," Blair greeted, his voice tired, his face drawn with fatigue and pain. 

"Why are you up so early?" Jim shifted his weight a little as Blair leaned into him. 

Blair sighed. "I couldn't sleep anymore. My butt might be sore but my stomach is acting up too. Everything seems to be cramping up." 

Jim rocked him slightly. "Maybe a massage would help after breakfast," he suggested, knowing first hand that his lover was an energetic sleeper, as vivid and alive as he was during daylight hours. Being forced to sleep in one and the same position for the whole night was a nightmare, not to mention the pain each accidental movement or bump caused. 

"That'll be nice," Blair grabbed the arms that crossed in front of his chest. "I'm so tired, Jim." 

"I know, sweetheart, I know. Maybe it'll help you go back to sleep later." Jim could clearly feel the tremors running through Blair's body. "After breakfast you might want to take another pain pill." 

Blair nodded. "Why don't you grab a quick shower and I'll make breakfast?" 

"Don't overdo it, Chief," Jim warned, releasing his friend. "I'll make breakfast while you relax a little, okay?" 

"I can't even SIT down, Jim!" Blair exclaimed, turning around. "There's nothing more I'd like to do, man. SIT down on my butt; sleep on my back, and cuddle close to you. It... it's not possible. I can't even go and take a shit without ..." He trailed off, looking away. 

"That bad, huh?" Jim reached out for him, but Blair shrugged off the offered comfort. "Blair, I don't even want to pretend to know how you feel right now. It's only been a few days. Give it some time to heal." 

"I don't fucking want to give it time, I want to be okay again." Blair retrieved two mugs and poured some coffee from the steaming pot. "I just want it to be over, Jim." He turned anguished eyes to his lover, noticing the same despair in those clear blue eyes. 

"Chief--" 

Blair shook his head, waving off any comment. "Just go and take your shower, I'll be fine." 

Jim sighed and watched his lover opening the refrigerator. "I'll be right back, okay?" 

Blair nodded while searching their food supply. "What do you want?" he asked as Jim disappeared into the bathroom. 

"I don't care, Chief, pancakes or eggs. Whatever you want is okay," Jim replied and closed the door. 

Pancakes or eggs. 

Something in his brain froze. For a moment Blair stood paralyzed, staring blindly into the refrigerator. Then he slowly backed away, his heart thundering and beating in his throat. Fear gripped his being, threatening to suffocate him. His back connected with the kitchen counter and his panic rose as he felt trapped, unable to escape the memories, unable to escape the choice. 

Pancakes or eggs. 

90 days or 22 strokes. 

His confused mind couldn't make the connection, as the choice of breakfast became equivalent to the choice of punishment. A choice that he didn't really have. 

"I--I c--choo-se," he stammered as he slid down to the floor. Pain exploded in his behind immediately, but he couldn't do anything to prevent it. He couldn't move. 

He was trapped. 

The agony spiraled through his body, enveloping him like a curtain of pain. There was no escape, no mercy. He pressed his back into the unyielding wall behind him to escape the punishment but the pain remained, intensifying with each movement. 

There was no choice. 

The cane came down on him, bursting open his backside. He jerked violently, as his ass erupted in a volcano of agony. He wanted to scream but his vocal chords couldn't find any strength to form the sound. Unbearable heat surged through him, leaving him panting and crying silent tears. 

* * *

The refrigerator door was open. 

It was the first thing that caught Jim's attention as he stormed out of the bathroom, urged on by the sound of Blair's racing heartbeat. 

Blair was nowhere to be seen. 

"Chief?!" Jim shouted, while wrapping a towel around his waist. Dripping wet he walked into the kitchen and closed the refrigerator with one hand. He briefly registered the cold air as it hit his moist skin. As he rounded the kitchen counter, he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Blair crouched on the floor, _sat_ on the ground, his back pressed tightly against the counter as if he was trying to escape an invisible threat. Blankly, he stared into space, his eyes wide with fear. Occasionally he hiccupped and his whole body trembled. 

"Oh, no, Chief..." Jim approached him and hunkered down in front of the shivering figure. "Hey, buddy, what's going on?" He spoke quietly, soothingly. 

Blair flinched at the voice, huddling deeper into the corner. He kept staring ahead, whimpering softly. 

"Chief, it's Jim. You don't have to be afraid of me. Everything's okay now," Jim soothed, touching Blair's arm carefully. The reaction followed immediately as Blair tried to jerk away. However, Jim didn't loosen his grip. 

"N--nooo... p-p-pl--ease," Blair supplicated. "I... don't... w-want t-to..." 

"You don't have to do anything, love," Jim reassured him, squeezing Blair's upper arms gently. "You're safe. I'm here," he added. 

"I... don't... w-w-ant to c-choose," Blair stuttered, breathing harshly, almost hyperventilating. 

"Sshhhh, try to relax, Chief. You do not have to choose, you hear me? You're at home now, at the loft." Jim tried a smile although he knew the gesture would be lost on Blair. "Why don't you let me help you get off that floor?" He tugged gently at Blair's arm, relieved when his lover seemed to be at least subconsciously aware of him. 

"That's it," he praised as Blair allowed himself to be pulled up. As soon as they both stood upright, Jim steered them towards the living room and their comfy nest of pillows. "You're doing great, Chief," he encouraged, putting his arm supportively around Blair's shoulder. They walked slowly, Blair's motions reminiscent of a robot following a simple instruction. 

"Y--you... are wet," Blair suddenly stated matter-of-factly. 

"Chief? Are you with me again?" Jim asked while lowering his friend on their bed. Blair moaned out loud as the movement aggravated his injuries. 

"Jim?! W-what the hell happened?" Blair asked uncertain. He looked around, puzzlement evident on his face. "How did I get here?" 

Jim knelt beside him, helping him to find a comfortable position on his stomach. "What do you remember?" 

Blair frowned. "I couldn't sleep anymore and... I got up to start breakfast." He looked at Jim with large eyes. "Then I was afraid and... it started to hurt again." 

"You kind of bumped into your butt, Chief. Maybe that triggered something," Jim said. He covered Blair with a blanket. "How are you feeling now?" 

"It ... hurts," Blair sighed. 

Jim nodded, cupping Blair's face gently. "Try to relax a bit. I'll make you some breakfast and then you can take your pain meds, okay? And I remember I promised you a massage." 

"When will this stop, Jim?" Blair asked in a tear-stricken voice. "It feels like I'm losing my mind. I don't know what's real anymore." 

"You suffered a great shock, love, it'll take some time to heal mind and body." Jim brushed away a few strands of hair. "But you have to _grant_ it that time." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "Dr. Taylor offered to give us some names of ... human-rights organizations that could help us with ... your memories." 

"I don't think I can talk about this. Not to anybody," Blair squeezed his eyes shut at the mere suggestion. "I just want to forget." 

"I know, Chief. Nobody'll force you to talk." 

"Make me forget, Jim," Blair pleaded, shivering again under the covers. 

Jim exhaled deeply. "I'll try, love, I promise." 

* * *

The new day came and went. If asked, Jim couldn't tell what was worse, the nights, the days, or the 'in between' moments when Blair seemed like his old self and only seconds later receded to the fearful bundle of nerves and tears. Choices were the trigger, Jim fathomed. So was darkness and the constant need to wear clothes. No, not darkness per se, it was the shadows that frightened Blair. The ever present pain from the deep bruising and cuts on his backside added to the flashbacks. 

Jim felt helpless. His mind played tricks on him supplying nightmares of his own, portraying his inability to help Blair, to rescue him from that jail cell he actually didn't know anything about, or to prevent the judicial punishment from happening. 

"You're doing great, man," Blair said the next morning as they had breakfast served in their little sleeping paradise. Still unable to sit down, Blair rested on his stomach as always, propped up on one elbow. 

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, I know, I'm a born tomato slicer." He reached over for the basket of French baguette. "Want salt and pepper?" 

A small smile crossed Blair's face, but it was gone before it could deepen. "No, I mean..." He gestured vaguely with his fork before picking up a piece of tomato. "...the Florence Nightingale thing." He went quiet for a moment as Jim looked up. "The listening thing, you know?" 

"I hope I do," Jim replied slowly, unsure how to react to the sudden change of subject. 

"I know I'm not offering much food for thought," Blair smiled again, longer this time, but all the same, sadly. "I... can't talk about this, Jim," he stated, putting down his fork.. "But I know you're listening... to me. With your senses I mean." 

"I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, Chief," Jim said sincerely. "It's just... a natural thing I'd say. I can't help it. My senses are fine tuned to you and... yes, I guess, they read you even when you don't talk." 

Blair shook his head, absent-mindedly breaking off a piece of bread. "No, don't apologize for it. It's all part of what you are. You listen, you learn and you act. It's like you know it before I start crying and give me a hug in advance." Now his smile was genuine. "You're great, man." 

Jim started breathing again as their conversation became more casual. "I learned from the best," he shrugged, buttering his pancake. 

Blair's smile turned into an almost satisfied, pleased grin. "You need me," he accused playfully, snatching a small cherry tomato from Jim's plate. He bit into it, offering the piece to Jim. 

"Oh, yes, I need you," Jim replied, crawling over and kissing Blair's mouth - and effectively retrieving his tomato. 

For a wonderfully normal moment, their kiss continued. Sweetly, they teased each other with nibbles and gentle bites. Jim nudged Blair's lips passionately and soon his tongue was invited inside while the kiss deepened. He felt Blair's tongue eagerly responding, as they tasted each other hungrily. When the need for air became unbearable, they broke off, each man panting slightly. 

"There's salt and pepper missing," Blair quipped, munching on his portion of the tomato. 

"I can help you with that," Jim promised, popping another red vegetable into his mouth. He leaned forward to kiss Blair again, while his lover followed his move and they merged in another demanding kiss. Jim weaved his hand through the long curls. Opening his sense of touch, the silky texture made him shudder; the velvet lips pleasuring his mouth tingled through his nerves. 

"I... want to touch you," Blair gasped between kisses. His hand roamed under Jim's shirt, brushing over the muscled stomach and chest. 

Jim moaned. The animated fingers worked wonders on his sensitive skin, sending sprightly messages to his cock. "God, Chief...," he panted heavily now, his body tense with anticipation. 

Blair smiled broadly. "You like that, huh?" He rubbed the hardening nipples, tweaking them gently. 

In return, Jim heaved an impassioned sigh. "It's been so long," he murmured, as the simple caresses drove him towards the edge. Blair had been on his field trip for five long, celibate weeks and now his deprived body responded yearningly, his starving cells ravenously absorbed each touch, each stroke, each kiss. 

"I wish I could make love to you right now," Blair breathed sadly. 

"Y-you are doing it..." Jim groaned, pulling Blair closer. "Missed your hands..." He rocked his hips slightly as the pressure in his groin increased. His cock swelled, fighting the confinement of his pants. 

"Love you lots." Abandoning the smooth skin of Jim's chest, Blair trailed downwards. As he reached the trapped cock, he nudged it gently, rubbing it through the clothes. 

"Aahhhh, Chief...," Jim panted, when the light touch finally catapulted him to the rim of his climax. He jerked against Blair's hand, gulping in air as he rode out the tide of passion. Then he slumped back against the pillows, his eyes closed in bliss. 

"Oh, man, Chief..." 

"Glad you enjoyed," Blair smiled, putting an arm on Jim's heaving chest. 

"'Enjoy' doesn't cover it," Jim sighed. 

The telephone rang. 

The two men froze, looking at each other disappointedly. "If that's Simon, I'll kick his ass," Jim muttered under his breath as he slowly got up to pick up the phone. His movements were laggard as his muscles quivered in the aftermath of the unexpected lovemaking. 

"I'll join you," Blair nodded and let his head drop back on the pillow. He stole a few more tomatoes off Jim's plate, while his sentinel answered the phone. He felt good. Pleasing Jim had felt good. Life was good. He sighed deeply. 

"Ellison." Listening for a moment, Jim nodded, saying, "Yes, hold on he's right here." With a couple of long strides, he was back in the living room. He handed the phone to Blair. "One of your old girl friends," he joked, sitting down again. 

Blair's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" he teased with playful eagerness. 

Jim just rolled his eyes. He reached out to slap at Blair's arm but he caught himself in time, afraid to trigger yet another bad memory. Instead, he ruffled the mop of hair. 

"This is Blair Sandburg." Blair shook his head, looking at Jim with feigned indignation. 'Not the hair!' he mouthed smilingly. 

Jim grinned. It was good to see Blair smiling like this. For a brief span of time, their world seemed to be back in order. 

"Mr. Sandburg, my name is Kate McGuire. I work for justice.org and just learned about your horrifying experience in--" 

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested," Blair interrupted, swallowing hard. He knew his heartbeat picked up tenfold. The same instant Jim's head jerked up and he looked questioningly at him. 

"Mr. Sandburg, please, we understand it must be difficult to deal with the situation. Our organization wants to help victims of--" Kate McGuire tried again. 

"I appreciate your concern, but thank you. _No_ , thank you." Blair disconnected the call, throwing the phone into the pile of blankets as if it had suddenly become scalding hot. 

"Chief? What was that all about?" Jim asked, while Blair's accelerated heart rate still drummed through his head. 

"Nothing...," Blair shook his head. "Just... nothing, Jim. Don't worry about it." 

"Are you okay?" Jim reached out for a trembling hand. "Calm down, Blair. Your heart's about to jump out of your chest." He rubbed Blair's wrist carefully, searching for the pressure point to help his friend relax. 

Blair clutched Jim's hand fiercely. "I'm... okay, Jim," he reassured, but his voice still quivered. 

* * *

Dr. Taylor's flashy outfit bore a stark contrast to the clinical white of the hospital. He wore a vivid Hawaiian shirt over baggy dark red trousers, his glasses glinting under the bright lights. A colorful button saying "Save my day!" decorated the collar of his open lab coat. He smiled broadly when he entered the exam room. 

"Hello, guys. Hi, Blair," he shook the hand, offering the same to Jim. "Detective Ellison." He threw Blair's medical file on the counter, opening it briskly. "It's good to see you vertical again, Blair," he commented pleasantly. 

"Took me long enough," Blair replied quietly, his anxiety to get the scheduled exam over with visible on his face. He wore large sweatpants, courtesy of Jim, and a t-shirt. 

"How's it going?" Taylor asked and turned around to lean leisurely against exam table. "Blair?" he prompted at the silence, exchanging a questioning glance with Jim. 

"Everything still hurts," Blair admitted finally, his hands brushing nervously over the thin paper sheet that covered the table. 

"Only when you move around or...?" The doctor reached around to leaf through the file. 

Blair nodded. "Yes, mostly anyway. I sort of... bumped into something the other day and it hurt a lot after that. I-- there's also some pain in my back and shoulders." 

"You probably compensated somehow and move awkwardly because you're hurting down there," Jim suggested, receiving a confirming nod from Dr. Taylor. 

"That's correct." Taylor quickly checked Blair's vital signs, adding the corresponding data to his chart. "Let's take a look, huh?" he patted the table invitingly. 

Blair didn't move. 

"Blair?" 

"W-what are you going to do?" Blair asked. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he stepped back. 

Dr. Taylor smiled disarmingly. "I would just like to take a look and the nurse will take care of a new dressing later." 

"J--just... look?" Fear shone in Blair's eyes. 

"It might be a bit uncomfortable but I won't hurt you." Taylor reassured. 

"Everything will be okay, Chief," Jim chimed in. "I'll be right here with you." 

Blair stared at the exam table, battling with the demons in his head. "I want to go home," he said finally, taking another tentative step backwards. He bumped into Jim's solid frame and flinched at the unexpected contact. 

"Easy, Chief." 

However, Dr. Taylor moved back and closed Blair's file. "No problem, Blair. If you want to come back another day, it's fine." 

Jim frowned and Blair stared in surprise. 

"I--I don't h-have... to stay?" Blair asked in a whisper. He looked from the young doctor to the door. 

"No, Blair, you can go home if you like," Dr. Taylor replied. "Nobody will make you do anything." He shot a warning glance at Jim, muting any verbal interference. 

Blair nodded slowly. 

He could go home. Nobody was forcing him to stay. 

It was safe to make a choice. 

He carefully approached the table again, biting his trembling lips. 

"C-could you... maybe just take a look... now?" he suggested. 

Dr. Taylor smiled and Jim relaxed. "Sure, if you want to." He still had not moved in order to give Blair the chance to leave. 

"I'm sorry," Blair bowed his head, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I don't know what's going on with me. I didn't mean to--" 

"I think the doctor understands, Blair," Jim assured him. 

Dr. Taylor opened the chart again. "He's right, Blair. We'll do this at your pace. Nobody will do anything you don't want, okay?" 

With Jim's help, Blair hesitantly took off his sweatpants and underwear and climbed onto the exam table. His thighs and back trembled and he watched the doctor with wide eyes, anxiously anticipating the exam. 

"Just try and relax, Blair," Dr. Taylor advised softly as he casually pulled on a pair of medical gloves. Corresponding to his overall outfit, they were purple. 

"Easy for you to say," Blair mumbled, resting his head on his folded arms. 

"You're going to be fine, Chief." Jim patted his shoulder. 

As the doctor approached the table, Blair visibly shrank away and his body tensed up immediately. "You can tell me to stop at any time, okay?" Taylor promised while he already worked on removing the bandages that covered most of Blair's behind. 

Blair flinched at the initial contact. 

"Blair?" Taylor rested his hand on Blair's thigh, ceasing his motions for a moment to give him time to adjust. "Take a deep breath for me," he ordered gently. "And again." 

"It's okay," Blair nodded into the fold of his arms. "Keep going." 

"You're doing great, Chief," Jim encouraged his young friend, grimacing sympathetically as the bandages came off. 

Blair's rear was an ugly mass of dark blue, almost black bruises. It was hard to tell where one began and the other ended, only slight nuances in color indicated where the flesh had been spared. The open wounds inflicted by the cane had only healed superficially. 

"The swelling has gone down considerably," Dr. Taylor commented. "Although I have to say you might have to wait a while longer to sell this colorful piece of art. In a few days we'll probably even see some green spots in there." 

Blair actually chuckled, regaining a bit of his composure now that the exam turned out to be exactly what the doctor had promised. "I'm glad you like it, doctor. What's your first bid?" He turned his head slightly to look at the physician. 

Taylor grinned. "I'm sorry but I'm not really into modern art." He examined the welts on Blair's thighs. "Have you tried to sit down yet or sleep on your back?" 

"No." Blair rested his head again, looking up at Jim who smiled encouraging. "I'm afraid... it's gonna hurt too much," he admitted softly. 

"Relax, Blair, don't tense up back here," Taylor said warningly, sensing the quivering muscles under his hand. "It will take a few more weeks at least before you can sit down without any discomfort, if not months. For one, there's the pain from the wounds which will keep you sore for quite some time and second, the bruising is going very deep into the muscles." He looked at Jim. "As soon as he can endure some pressure, you might want to help him with some ointment." 

Dr. Taylor continued his exam carefully, always monitoring his patient's reactions. However, Blair remained surprisingly calm after his initial panic. "Luckily your tailbone was not broken. Do you have any problems going to the bathroom?" 

Blair blushed and quickly buried his head. "I try not to," he said into the shelter of his arms. 

"He didn't want to eat at first," Jim explained quietly and reached out to touch Blair's back. He began a gentle rubbing as he noticed newborn tremors coursing through his body. 

"It always hurts," Blair said, his voice suddenly strained. 

Dr. Taylor sighed. "Blair, I know it's not a pleasant thing to do but it is essential that your system gets back to normal soon and that includes regular bowel movements." 

Blair merely nodded. 

"Would it be okay if I took a couple of Polaroids of your injuries?" Taylor inquired. 

"What for?" Jim asked for Blair, still stroking his back. 

"For the files and for future references," Taylor explained. "As harsh as it might sound, the extent of this kind of injury is unknown to us and we could use some more information." He looked down at his patient. "Blair?" 

"Please don't..." Blair whispered shakily. "I... don't want it." 

Pursing his lips, Dr. Taylor nodded. "Okay, I'm sorry I brought this up, Blair. This must be all very upsetting for you." 

A young nurse entered quietly, throwing a questioning glance at the doctor. 

"We're almost finished here, nurse," Taylor informed. To Blair he said, "Kelly will put on a new dressing in a few minutes." He touched the small of his back. "Could you spread your legs a little, please?" 

Blair froze immediately at the gentle command. "W-why?" 

"I'd like to take a look at your scrotum." Taylor waited patiently. "You received a couple of strokes there, too." 

Haltingly, Blair complied and opened his legs. Reaching out with one arm, he searched blindly for Jim. Immediately a strong hand clasped his, holding on tightly. 

"It's going to be over soon, Blair. Just relax," Jim said, running his thumb over the white knuckles as Blair squeezed his hand fiercely. 

Dr. Taylor examined the injured skin carefully and finally nodded. "Looks good to me." He touched his shoulder compassionately. "You did good, Blair." 

"Thanks, doc," Jim said, while still holding onto Blair. 

Taylor added his findings to the chart. "If there are no problems, I'd like to see you again in two weeks, okay, Blair?" He nodded at the nurse. "You'll get a new dressing now and then you're all set to go home." He shook Jim's free hand and followed the impulse to stroke Blair's long hair. 

"Take care of yourself," he advised quietly and left the room. 

* * *

Strong arms held him in place. 

Blair opened his eyes and stared into the darkness above him. There was a shadow by his side and he started to shake in fright. Strong arms held him. 

Lovingly. 

"Jim?" he breathed inaudibly, knowing a sentinel would hear him. 

"It's me, Blair, you're fine, you're safe." Jim murmured against his hair, detecting the fine tremors that had yet again started to ravage Blair's body. 

"Afraid I was somewhere else," Blair muttered. "Again." 

"What happened during those days, love?" Jim ventured into the frail territory of Blair's mind. "Maybe talking about it would help." 

"Don't make me do this, Jim," Blair pleaded. "I _can't_ talk about this." He snuggled closer into the warm embrace. 

Jim closed his eyes at the anguish he could clearly hear in Blair's voice. "You don't have to tell me, Chief," he reassured him. "I just want you to know that... that whenever you need to talk about it, I'll be there." 

"I know." Blair sighed. After a minute of silence and gentle cuddling, he asked, "Have you ever heard of justice.org?" 

"Can't say that I have," Jim replied honestly. "What about it?" 

"They've called me several times the last couple of weeks," Blair sighed again and carefully rolled onto his side. He grimaced at the initial and all too familiar pain as one of his buttocks had to bear his weight. "They fight against corporal punishment in general and judicial punishment in particular." He bit his lips as the words that would bring painful memories left him. 

"Are they harassing you?" Jim asked gently. 

Blair shook his head slowly. "I wouldn't call it harassment. It's more like determination to get some first-hand information to help their cause. I... I've hung up the phone every time they called," he admitted softly. 

"They have no right to bother you if you don't want to talk to them, Chief. If you want I could look into it and ask them to back off," Jim offered. 

"No." 

"No?" Jim repeated as he traced Blair's face with his fingertips. "You said--" 

"They're doing the right thing," Blair interrupted. "I w-went to their website the other day. It's... they have some h-horrible s-stuff up there, Jim." Blair moved forward suddenly and buried his face against Jim's broad chest. He began to cry as he sought refuge in his safe haven. 

"Oh, Chief...," Jim hugged Blair even closer, pressing the body against him and trying to shield him against the mental anguish that tormented him worse than the physical effects of the sentence. "Shhhhhh, I've got you. Everything's gonna be alright..." 

Blair continued crying, his overwhelmed emotions coming out in nerve-wracking sobs now. "I... I... ss-aaa-www p-p-i-ct-," Blair stammered breathlessly. 

Jim closed his eyes at the pain he heard in the stuttered words. "Try to calm down, love. Shhhhhh, come on, breathe for me." Like so many times in the last few weeks he rubbed the quivering back soothingly. 

"I...I...d-don't ...want ...to...be ...one o-fff..fff...'em," the stammer continued. 

"Nobody will force you to talk to them, Chief." Jim kissed the mop of curls. "I won't let them, you hear me? Nobody gets around me if you don't want it." 

Blair hiccupped, gulping in air, while his sobbing went on. He clung to the strong body, his arms circling Jim's waist and holding on with a strength born of despair. 

"Sshhhhhh, try and relax. You're safe." Jim repeated. Deep inside the rage boiled again. How many times had he held Blair like this, trying to calm the shivering, crying, remembering man until he lay exhausted in his arms? How could anyone be so cruel to inflict such atrocities on a gentle, _human_ being as Blair? How could...anyone... he was at a loss for words. 

Crooning whispered words of comfort, Jim began to rock Blair gently. After a while, he felt Blair relax and the arms around his waist went slack as the exhausted body surrendered to sleep. 

* * *

It was early as Blair quietly closed the front door behind him andslipped out of the loft. He was sure that Jim had heard him, but still he didn't want to add extra noise when the sentinel was listening to him. As always in the last few weeks, Blair had woken up early when his cramping muscles made it impossible to sleep or lie down any longer. So, he'd carefully disentangled himself from the cozy embrace of Jim's muscled arm and left a note on the counter - 'Gone to the bakery, be right back'. 

The Saturday morning greeted him with bright sunlight, but the breeze from the bay reminded him that springtime was not yet around the corner. He shivered slightly as he huddled into his jacket, the wind blowing through his sweatpants. Wearing his favorite jeans was still out of the question because any confining garment still caused considerable discomfort to his healing wounds . He'd tried wide slacks and, of course, Jim's way too baggy sweatpants. 

Blair walked down the road slowly, his gait still dominated by his aching muscles. He nodded as he spotted a few neighbors and he waved at a little boy watching him from behind a window. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Cole," Blair greeted, entering the small bakery. The intoxicating scent of freshly baked bread and rolls lingered in the air and he inhaled deeply. 

The elderly woman behind the counter smiled at him. "Hello, my dear. You're up early again," she observed worriedly. 

Blair sighed. "Yeah, I know. Couldn't sleep anymore." He looked at the display of cakes and pastry. "Could I get two sweet rolls and one onion baguette, please?" 

"Coming right up," Mrs. Cole promised, getting a paper back to fill in his order. "Would you like anything else?" 

Eyeing the offers, Blair asked, "Last week you had these little strawberry pastries..." He gestured at the selections. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Blair, we're out already. Somebody took the whole batch for a birthday party a few minutes ago," Mrs. Cole explained. 

"And I thought I was up early," Blair smiled. 

"Maybe you'd like something else?" Eagerly, she pointed at a few items. "I can highly recommend some of these raspberry pastries or this cherry-chocolate cake. Then, just for today, we have an extraordinary vanilla pastry with nuts." She looked up at him with warm eyes, spreading her arms. "The choice is yours." 

Blair's smile faltered. "Sounds good," he nodded hesitantly, as the all too familiar feeling of a beginning panic attack started to build up deep inside him. Taking a few deep breaths he struggled to control his hammering heart, telling himself he was being silly. 

This choice was easy. There were no strings attached, no consequences to fear. 

He swallowed hard and stared at the glass showcase. A voice speaking broken English echoed through his head, offering him a generous choice of humiliation and pain or pain and humiliation. 

"Blair, dear, are you okay?" 

Blair flinched and looked at Mrs. Cole who watched him with grandmotherly eyes. His gaze flashed back to the pastry selection in front of him. 

"J-just... two pieces...," he began, fighting back the images that his exhausted mind cruelly produced. 

"Of what, dear?" 

He wanted to go home. 

"Uhm... I... just... you choose," he finished, pleading her with fear-stricken eyes to take the choice away from him. 

"I'd take the raspberry pastry," Mrs. Cole said, still waiting for his confirmation. 

Blair shifted his weight, grimacing a little at the twitch of pain. He took a deep breath and looked around the bakery again. He _was_ home. He didn't have to choose and fear worse. 

"I'd rather like the cherry-chocolate pieces," he decided, while his heart sped up another notch. 

Mrs. Cole nodded. "Very good too, Blair." She scooped two pieces onto a plate and wrapped it in paper. Accepting the money, she handed him his purchase. 

"I... I'm going home now," Blair voiced cautiously, a wicked demon in his mind still daring him to hope for such a reward. 

The elderly woman nodded. "Then have a good day, dear. And tell Jim I hope to see him again on Monday morning. We'll have some yogurt donuts on sale then." She winked at him. 

Blair smiled carefully, waiting. 

"Anything else, dear?" Mrs. Cole watched him expectantly. 

He was free to go. Nobody kept him or punished him painfully for his choice. He could go home and so he did. 

"No... thanks, Mrs. Cole. Have a good day, too." Blair turned around and left the bakery. 

He walked quickly, ignoring the warning pain in his rear. Nobody could keep him if he didn't want to, nobody could make him do anything he didn't want to do. Jim was right. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, taking a deep cleansing breath at the disturbing images that still coursed through his head like a movie from another time, yet familiar and present. 

"Excuse me, sir, are you Blair Sandburg?" 

The voice startled him and he took a step backwards before his eyes riveted on a young woman standing beside him. She was small, almost frail looking, but her dark eyes sparkled warmly. 

"Yes." Blair replied, slowly regaining his inner balance. 

The woman broke into a broad smile. "My name is Kate McGuire from justice.org," she introduced herself, offering her hand. "We talked briefly on the phone a few times." 

Blair inner balance began to crumble again. "I'm not interested in your organization. I'm sorry." He started walking again, casting a longing look at the loft in the distance. 

Kate McGuire followed him, speeding up a little to walk beside him. "Please, Mr. Sandburg, all I'm asking is that you listen to me for a moment and give me the chance to explain our reasons." 

"I've been to your website," Blair said. "I really appreciate your efforts, Ms. McGuire, but I don't need or want your help. I'm really sorry. That's all I have to say." The pedestrian light changed to green and he started running. 

"What about the people who need YOUR help, Mr. Sandburg?" Kate called after him as he crossed the street. "Please..." 

* * *

Even before the key turned in the lock, Jim was instantly alert. The accelerated staccato of Blair's heart had penetrated his light slumber as he had waited for his lover's return with breakfast. Now he was up on his feet and by the door when Blair pushed it open and almost crashed into the loft. 

"Chief, what happened?" Jim asked, taking in his lover's ragged appearance. Sweat covered his face and his hair was wild, standing out in all directions. His breath came in short, fast gasps, almost panting. 

"What is it, Chief?" Jim probed, quickly accepting the small grocery bag that threatened to slip to the floor. 

Mutely, Blair moved forward into the embrace that would shield him from all evil as it had so often. He sighed gratefully as Jim's arms closed around him, holding him tightly. 

He was home. 

"You're home, love," Jim confirmed unknowingly. 

Blair nodded against this chest. "I bought cherry-chocolate cake for us." 

"Sounds delicious. Mrs. Cole is really amazing with pastry," Jim replied, wondering about the importance of Blair's statement. He rubbed the tense back soothingly. "Try to relax, Chief. God, you're tight as a violin string." 

Another nod. 

"You want to tell me what happened?" Jim probed; leading to the living room where their cozy bedding paradise still existed. 

"I'm okay, Jim," Blair lied, limping slightly and favoring one side. "I met-ahhhhhhhh, dammit!" Blair cried out in pain and heavily leaned into Jim. 

"Where does it hurt?" Jim asked in alarm, supporting his lover with a steady hand around his waist. 

"Cramp." Blair gasped, trying to relief the tension by balancing on his left leg only. "Oh, god... Jim!" 

"Take it easy, Chief." Jim maneuvered him onto his stomach, touching Blair's right thigh carefully and immediately feeling the spasming muscles. 

"It...it's ... the whole side, man," Blair panted while the pain radiated up and down his leg and back. He tried to will his body to relax, knowing it was only a matter of moments until... 

"Arrrghhhh! Jim!" he bit into the pillow beneath him as the cramp took hold of his right buttock. "Butt cramp." 

"Try to relax, Chief, I'm on it." Jim deftly pulled down Blair's sweatpants and boxers, forcing himself to ignore the additional groan at the rough movement. "Try to stretch your leg." He ordered, as he roamed his hand over the exposed thigh. 

"I can't!" Blair exclaimed. "Don't touch it, don't touch it. God! JIM!!! Please..." 

"Try stretching your toes," Jim tried again, knowing the severe cramping would make any logical thought impossible. The leg jerked under his hand as Blair struggled to comply. 

"Oh, God, Jim, make it STOP," Blair moaned. The spasms in his butt targeted his bruised muscles, driving him into an excruciating whirlwind of pain. 

Jim felt the thigh slowly relax under his touch. "That's it...," he praised. "Come on, Blair, try and stretch your leg now. You can do it." He kept one hand on the quivering thigh, as those muscles gradually went back to normal. 

"J-jiiimm!" 

"Keep breathing, Chief," Jim advised, taking a deep breath himself. "I have to touch you," he warned and without giving Blair the time to comprehend what he was saying, he reached out and cupped the bruised ass cheek. 

Immediately, Blair screamed. He tried to crawl away from the hurting hand but Jim held him in place by putting his other hand on the small of his back. "Easy, Chief. I know it hurts, I know, I know." He could feel the heat from the burst blood vessels under this hand as he searched for the cramp and began the painful massage. His heart ached with each moan and each violent muscle spasm, knowing he was adding more agony with his actions. 

Blair pressed his face into the pillow, whimpering Jim's name from time to time. 

"I think I got it, Chief," Jim announced after torturous minutes. The muscles still trembled but the cramping was gone. He stared at his hand as it now rested lightly on the colorful bruising. He let out his breath and slowly reached out to rub Blair's shaking back. 

"How does it feel now?" He asked. 

Blair turned his head and his face was wet with tears. "Ss-till jittering but the cramp's gone," he mumbled in a strained voice. 

"How would a backrub feel right now, huh?" Jim offered. "And after that we could use Dr. Taylor's wonder potion, what do you think?" 

Blair nodded weakly. "Thanks." 

Jim clenched his jaws at the overwhelming gratitude he could hear in that single word. "I never wanted to hurt you, Chief," he whispered. 

"You didn't." Blair shook his head. "You did great, man. Thank you." He looked over his shoulder and noticed the pained expression on his face. "Smile for me," he simply said and after a moment Jim followed his directive and smiled disarmingly. 

"I'll be right back," Jim said then and got up to vanish into the bathroom. A minute later he returned with the massage oil and the ointment for Blair's behind. 

Blair watched the preparations and sighed as the warm hands began massaging his shoulders. "Make me feel good, Jim," he murmured, closing his eyes. 

"Anytime, sweetheart, anytime," Jim replied. He roamed over the shoulders, kneading them thoroughly but tenderly. Following Blair's spine with his thumb, he smiled as his lover wiggled slightly. 

"You like that, huh?" 

"You're the best," Blair groaned in pleasure while Jim's hands expertly loosened his muscles. 

"Took you long enough to find out," Jim teased, trailing his fingers up and down and stopping here and there to work on a tight spot. 

"Jim?" 

"Hhhmmmm..." Jim leaned forward to press a resounding kiss on Blair's shoulder blades. 

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" 

Jim trailed down to Blair's sides, massaging them without tickling. "No, why would I think that?" he replied calmly, moving to the lower back. "What makes _you_ think that?" 

Blair managed a shrug. "I met Kate McGuire this morning." 

"From justice.org?" Jim verified. 

"I told her I didn't need their help," Blair told him slowly. "She... she said that others would need _my_ help." 

"That sounds pretty much like emotional blackmail, Chief. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with." Jim finished his backrub and wiped off his fingers. He reached for the ointment. 

"Take it easy now...," he warned before he touched Blair's cheeks. As expected Blair flinched at the pressure. For a moment there was silence while Jim carefully spread the lotion over the bruised area. 

"But what if it's true?" Blair asked, continuing their conversation. "What if I could really help other victims by telling them what happened to me? Maybe even prevent such things from happening." He hissed when Jim found a particularly sore spot. 

"We're talking about an old established legal system at the other end of the world," Jim reminded him. "I don't want to sound harsh, Chief, but do you really think they'd change their worldview because somebody stepped up and condemned it?" He shook his head. "It'll take more than that." 

"Maybe...," Blair pondered and paused briefly to collect his thoughts. "Maybe it's not about changing a system, Jim. What about the victims? My story could help them come to terms with what happened to them - or others." 

"You said yourself said you couldn't talk about it," Jim replied. "What makes you think other victims, maybe foreigners, would want to talk about it to a stranger?" 

Blair sighed. "Maybe because they don't have somebody like you to keep them sane," he answered quietly. "Maybe I am their one and only way to help them cope with it." 

"It's not going to be easy," Jim warned, but he realized Blair was serious. 

"I know. I... don't know if I can work up the courage to speak to them, but... I have to try." 

Jim remained silent, resting his hands on Blair's hips for a moment. "Chief, if _you_ need to talk to somebody about it, a stranger, I mean, I'll be behind you 100%. You know that, right?" 

"I love you, Jim." Blair turned his head to look at Jim. "And if I need to talk, I know where to knock." 

"Thanks, Chief," Jim said hoarsely. He placed a feather light kiss on Blair's butt. "Thanks for your love." 

* * *

Spring had finally arrived. The first warm days broke the winter weariness, improving moods - and adding sparkle to love lives. Blair grinned to himself as he carefully stepped out of the shower. Usually, their love life didn't need a season to be low or high, it was always precious, always intoxicating, always sensual. However, in the last four weeks due to his injury their love life had shriveled to a few short, tentative and gentle moments in time. 

Standing in front of the mirror, Blair dried himself off. He could hear Jim's good-natured whistling in the kitchen as he prepared breakfast. As he pictured Jim moving about between refrigerator and counter, clad only in his boxers, Blair couldn't help but increase his morning ablutions. Visions of a broad chest and muscled arms danced through his head, allowing his cock to twitch with excitement. Throwing a towel over his head, he rubbed roughly, knowing that his hair would be a tangled mess if he kept going like that. 

"How is it going, Chief?" Jim called out. "Hurry up or you'll have to make your own breakfast." 

"I have a bit _more_ hair to dry than you do, big guy," Blair replied to the playful threat. 

"Whatever you say, Chief. The bacon's sizzling without you..." 

Chuckling, Blair shook his head. His hair did look like a broomstick born to be wild now. He pulled at one curl but it jumped back into its former position. 

" _Sizzling_ ," he said huskily to the face in the mirror and turned around to get the razor. 

He froze mid-motion. 

He looked back at the mirror again, watching his naked silhouette, the towel around his neck. Hesitation and fear made his heart start pounding. He'd never seen the wounds inflicted on his backside. For one he'd been too sore to move around much and, second, he feared to look and to see the gruesome evidence of his sentence. Dr. Taylor had given him a short run down but to hear medical technicalities and see it with his own eyes were two totally different issues. 

Jim had seen it, his brain supplied. 

Fearfully, Blair turned around completely. It took him another minute to work up the courage to look over his shoulder at his reflection. He sucked in a sharp breath. 

His butt looked awful. Fading yellow and greenish bruises covered the skin. He could see a few spots, which were still deep blue, near his center where the cane had met its target repeatedly and often. Ugly patches of torn tissue marred both cheeks, scab distorting the skin. He reached around to touch the rough surface with trembling fingers. Several smaller wounds had already scarred, leaving behind repulsive white lines. Healed tissue, he reminded himself, but still it didn't look pleasant. 

Tears welled up in Blair's eyes as he stroked his formerly smooth skin. 

This was what Jim was seeing all the time. 

Taking a deep breath, Blair tried to calm his inner turmoil. Quickly, he opened the tap and let the water run into the sink, hoping Jim wouldn't pick up his elevated vital signs. Blair splashed some water into his face to erase the trace of tears. 

"I'm eating!" Jim called from the kitchen. 

Again, Blair's eyes became moist at the joyful tone in Jim's voice. He rubbed them angrily and quickly put on his boxers and robe. 

"Coming!" he shouted, hoping his voice wouldn't give away his distress. Jim had offered enough comfort for a lifetime and Blair didn't want to add yet another layer of hurt. 

"Too late, Chief, it's all gone," Jim joked as Blair emerged from the bathroom. 

Blair smiled a little, as his eyes took in the breakfast feast Jim had created. "You've outdone yourself, man," he praised at he gingerly sat down at the breakfast table. He bit his lips briefly as his bottom connected with the wooden surface of the chair. Despite the soft pillow, the initial pain still was a constant reminder of his sentence; the injuries he'd just seen caused by his own choice. 

"Freshly pressed orange juice, Monsieur Sandburg." Jim placed the glass in front of him, mimicking a French accent. "What does your heart desire this morning?" 

"Just some toast, thanks," Blair said quietly and reached for his juice. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Jim asked and he filled his own plate with a generous pile of scrambled eggs. 

Blair nodded. "Sure." He started buttering a slice of toast, but his hands were shaking. 

"Chief?" 

It was the single word, the beloved nickname that cut through Blair's heart like a knife. The gentle voice brought new tears to his eyes and he turned his head to the side to hide his emotions. 

"Hey...," Jim was by his chair immediately. Crouching down, he patted Blair's knee tenderly, his arms roaming over the thighs. "What is it, babe?" 

"Nothing," Blair sniffed, shaking his head. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his robe. "Just... " he trailed off, not meeting Jim's gaze. 

"Just what?" Jim prompted. "I don't want to see you crying," he said and squeezed Blair's legs. 

"I'm sorry, man." Blair bowed his head, his long hair effectively shielding his face like a curtain. 

"No, no, you don't have to hide from me, Chief, you know that," Jim brushed away the curls with his hand. "I just want to know what's bothering you." 

"I can't help it," Blair cried, looking at Jim with large eyes. "I... I don't want to cry anymore..." 

Knowing that Blair wasn't telling him the entire truth, Jim cupped Blair's face. "Crying cleanses the soul Chief. It's a good thing and nothing to be embarrassed about." 

"I've... cried _enough_ ," Blair emphasized with a hiccup. 

"You've been through a lot and I don't think there's a limit on tears stipulated anywhere." Jim smiled warmly. "If you feel like crying, just let it go." 

Blair nodded, leaning into Jim's hand. "D-do... you ... still l-l-love m-meee?" he asking brokenly, crying harder as the question left his mouth. 

"God, Chief, what kind of question is that?" Jim pulled Blair into an almost rib-cracking hug. "Of course I still love you. I will always love you, you hear me?" 

"E-even... as u-ugly as th--this?" 

Jim tightened his hold, not knowing why Blair was tearing himself apart like this. "Even if you _were_ ugly, I'd love you with all my heart." He rocked Blair gently. "But you're not, love. You're wonderful and beautiful, on the outside and the inside." 

"N--not anymore," Blair sobbed against his chest. 

" _Yes_ still, always. To _me_ ," Jim pointed out. It slowly dawned to him what must've caused the unexpected breakdown. The deep bruises, angry welts and scabbed wounds on Blair's buttocks took a long time to fade and heal, leaving probably more emotional scars than physical. Still, he couldn't imagine what had brought it on just now. "I love you the way you are," he whispered to the nearest ear. 

"It looks so gross," Blair moaned, confirming Jim's suspicion. "H-how can you s-stand to... to l-ook at me... and t--touch m-meee..." 

"Such wounds need some time to heal, Chief," Jim tried to supply some reason to the emotional logic. "You don't have to be embarrassed about it. You're healing, love. It's a positive sign that you're getting better." 

"Th...there'll b-be ...scars," Blair added, still clinging to Jim fiercely. 

Jim swallowed. "Scars or not, it won't change what you are to me. I love you either way." He pulled back a little to look at his lover. "Okay?" 

Blair's eyes still swam in tears but he nodded slowly. "O-okay." 

Jim leaned forward to kiss the wet cheeks and licked away the strains of tears. "Do you want me to show you how much I love you?" he breathed against the moist skin while his hands ventured lightly over Blair's thighs. 

"Love me," Blair's voice was low and pleading. 

"I love to touch you," Jim whispered, gently spreading Blair's legs. He roamed over the skin, as his strong hands continued their caress. "You feel so good." 

"You make me feel good," Blair corrected with a sigh. He leaned back in his chair when Jim touched his inner thighs. His muscles quivered delightedly. Then he moaned as the pain in his behind spiked at the change of position. 

Jim stopped his ministrations immediately. "Does it hurt?" He asked, resting his hands on Blair's knees. 

"I'm okay," Blair shook his head. "More...please?" His eyes reflected need and yet pain, emotional and physical. 

"Not here," Jim decided, pulling Blair to his feet. "Come on..." 

"You have to go to the station," Blair protested but he didn't resist Jim's guidance. 

"We're having a burst water pipe," Jim kissed him, adding, "The plumber is on his way." He led them to the living room but a tug on his hand from Blair stopped him. 

"Jim..." 

Jim looked at him, his heart sinking at the hesitant tone on Blair's voice. "It's okay if you don't feel up to it," he offered. "We don't have to--" 

Blair smiled broadly though, extinguishing his concern. "It's not that, big guy. I was just wondering if we could move this ... upstairs?" He gestured at their pillow paradise in front of the fireplace. "This is great but I... I'd like to..." He trailed off. "Sounds sappy, huh?" 

"Not at all, babe," Jim replied. "Are you sure you wanna do the stairs though?" 

"...if I get reward afterwards," Blair quipped, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

"I'll think about it," Jim grinned. 

They made it upstairs to their abandoned bedroom. Blair grimaced as he took the first few steps, but managed the distance without any problems although slow. Reaching their destination, he flexed his legs momentarily and sighed. 

"Okay?" Jim hugged Blair from behind while gently sliding off his robe. 

Blair nodded, allowing Jim to take care of him. He still bounced on his toes. "I just don't want to get another butt cramp," he explained. "That would be _so_ uncool, man." 

Jim quickly shed his own clothes while Blair occupied their bed again for the first time in weeks. He stretched out on his back, watching the dancing muscles with a smile as Jim crawled over to him. 

"You're still a little overdressed, babe." Jim tugged at the boxers. 

"Do you mind?" Blair asked shyly. As much as he wanted to feel Jim close and make love, he couldn't picture himself shedding that last piece of clothing which provided at least a tiny bit of protection against ... 

... hungry glances. 

He shuddered at the sudden memory, looking up into a set of striking blue eyes. 

"I've got you, Chief," Jim reminded him, stroking Blair's face tenderly. "I love you the way you are." He leaned over him and peppered a series of little kisses on the hairy chest. 

"I love you naked." Jim kissed a quivering nipple. "I love you in your winter coat." He kissed the other nipple. "I love you wrapped up in a towel." His kiss turned into a gentle nibbling, rewarding the first nipple again. "I love you wearing socks only." He sucked on the other nipple. "I love you only covered with soap bubbles." 

Blair moaned, arching his back to meet the hot mouth. "God..., Jim..." 

Jim smiled at the sensual sounds he'd missed so much. "And I love you in your boxers." He whirled his tongue around the hardening nub, reaching down simultaneously to cover Blair's cock through the thin fabric. "Because they hide so much and promise even more..." 

"Touch me..." 

Blair gasped as his plea was met with a gentle squeeze. His cock started to swell and the heat rushed through his body like a tropical breeze. 

"You feel so good, babe," Jim said huskily. He roamed over the boxers, finally sliding his hand under the waistband. Blair's cock greeted him eagerly, begging for more. "Hello, buddy...missed me?" Jim caressed the swelling organ, trailing up and down the shaft. 

Blair moaned passionately and placed his feet flat on the mattress, pushing himself up to increase the sensual contact. "More..." 

Jim smiled at the desperate need he could hear in Blair's voice. His own cock hardened at the panted words. "You make me so hot," he whispered and began another kissing assault on the trembling stomach. As expected, the muscles flexed under his touch, creating small ripples of pleasure. 

"Ahhhh, I... Jim... I ...," Blair babbled incoherently. His cock threatened to explode within seconds as Jim reached deeper into the boxers and cupped his balls. 

"Come for me..." Jim claimed Blair's mouth in a fierce kiss while his hand put the finishing touches on his work down under. 

Blair jerked his hips frantically as he screamed into Jim's kiss. His climax cascaded over him and his muscles went lax. Panting, he turned lusty dark eyes at his lover. "Oh...., man..." he gasped, gulping in air greedily. 

Mesmerized by the swollen parted lips, Jim returned the hungry glance. 

Blair's breath caught in his throat momentarily, then he darted out his tongue to lick his lips. 

Hungry glances. 

Looking at him, caressing him. 

He broke out into a disarming smile as he felt the weight of an invisible demon finally leave him. Suddenly he breathed easier and as he reached out to pull Jim close, the memories disappeared into the background. He knew they'd lurk there, waiting for the moment to haunt him again but it was a beginning. 

* * *

Blair stood by the kitchen counter, his palms flat on the smooth surface. He stared at the telephone, while his heat rate sped up at the thought of picking up the receiver. Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, he looked at the printout in front of him, memorizing the phone number. His lips moved quietly as he repeated the numbers all over again. 

22 strokes. 

He jerked at the sudden memory, realizing that he hadn't recited the phone number he wanted to dial, but the long and painful string of numbers in a tongue he didn't know. 

One to twenty-two. 

"Dammit!" Blair cursed, pushing the hair off his forehead. His hand trembled and came back sweaty. "Get a grip, man," he scolded and took a few deep breaths. 

Finally, he reached out for the phone and dialed the number. The dialing tone echoed through his ears and he flinched when somebody picked up at the other end of the line. 

"This is justice.org, my name is Michelle. How can I--" 

Blair slammed the receiver back on the cradle. Pushing away from the counter, he turned around and filled a glass of water. He gulped down the cold liquid, and then put the empty glass into the sink. 

"Come on, come on...," he tried to urge himself on. "Relax... oh, man..." He reached for the phone again and dialed. His heart thundered through his chest and he had to force himself to put the receiver to his ear. 

"This is justice.org, my name is Michelle. How can I help you?" 

Blair remained silent, gripping the receiver until his knuckles became white. 

"Hello?" 

"Uhm, hi, may... I...," Blair cleared his throat as the lump threatened to suffocate him. "I'd like to speak with Kate McGuire, please," he managed a last. 

"Please hold." 

Blair nodded, listening to the "we are connecting your call" recorded message. Before somebody could answer the phone, Blair put down the receiver again, disconnecting the call. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin as the phone rang. Paralyzed, he stared at the phone, letting it ring until the answering machine picked up the call. Moments later Jim's voice sounded through the loft. 

"Hey, Chief, if you listen to this early enough I am wondering if you'd come to lunch with me. Simon told me there's this new Chinese restaurant on--" 

Blair grabbed the receiver, suddenly longing for his lover's presence and comfort. "Jim?" He hoped his voice wouldn't sound too desperate but at the same time he wanted Jim to notice. 

"Hey, babe, I thought you weren't home. How's your morning going so far?" 

"Lonely ... without you," Blair replied. 

"Anything wrong?" Jim prompted. 

"No, no, I'm fine. It's just that I miss you." 

At the other end of the line Jim remained silent for a moment, tuning in to Blair's heartbeat and finding it accelerated. "Chief? You okay?" 

Blair hesitated. "I ... tried to call justice.org," he finally said. When Jim didn't say anything, he continued, "I hung up on them. I could talk to them." 

"You don't have to talk to them, love," Jim explained. "Nobody forces you to do anything you don't like." 

"I _want_ to do it, Jim," Blair said slowly but determined. "I just can't... I don't have the guts to talk to them." 

"Maybe we could call them together this afternoon?" Jim suggested. 

"I don't want you to hold my hand every time I hit a rough spot." Blair sighed, looking at the website printout in front of him. 

"Blair, you've experienced a trauma and there's nothing wrong with needing some comfort or TLC." 

Blair nodded, although he knew Jim couldn't see it. "I'll call them again now." 

"Give me a call afterwards?" 

"Sure," Blair nodded. "About lunch... I'll come down to the station around 12.30, okay?" 

"Sounds good to me," Jim confirmed. "Love you." 

"Love you, too," Blair ended the call. Hesitating for a moment, he picked up the receiver again and dialed. 

The familiar voice answered the phone again. "This is justice.org. My name is Michelle. How can I help you?" 

Blair took a deep breath. "My name is Blair Sandburg and I'd like to talk to Kate McGuire, please..." 

* * *

The scent of freshly roasted coffee beans lingered in the air as Blair stepped out of the Starbucks Coffee shop, sipping on a hot tea. He looked at the logo in the window and gauged his reflection. He wore jeans for the first time again, but the tight fabric felt uncomfortable. 

Blair flinched minutely when Kate McGuire's figure suddenly appeared in the shop window. 

"Mr. Sandburg?" she spoke to him from behind and he slowly turned around. "Kate McGuire, thanks for meeting me." 

Blair shook the proffered hand. "Hello," he greeted her, while mind started racing, joining the fast beating of his heart. He didn't know what to say - a rare occurrence for him. He caught himself staring at her and quickly lowered his gaze. 

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Kate suggested softly, sensing his discomfort. When he still didn't say anything, she tried to catch his eyes. "Do you want me to leave?" she offered. 

"You just came," Blair pointed out. He sipped at his paper cup of tea. "I'm sorry. I'm such a jerk." He gestured to a small park across the street. "Let's go over there." 

"There's no need to apologize, Mr. Sandburg," Kate said as they crossed the street. "I know this isn't easy for you." 

Blair let out a joyless laugh. "No, I don't think you do." 

"Why don't you tell me then?" she prompted. 

Blair threw his half emptied teacup into a trash can. "You said others might need my help." He spread his arms. "I'd like to help you. What do I do?" 

Kate touched his arm carefully. "Mr. Sandburg --" 

"It's Blair." 

"Blair, I appreciate your offer and I understand that it must be very difficult for you to be here and talk to me and offer your help, but this is not about you helping us at the moment." Kate watched the expressive blue eyes turn dark. "We want to help you to deal with this." 

"I don't want your help," Blair denied briskly. 

"Why not?" 

Blair stopped walking and looked at her. "Because I am doing okay. My ... _ass_ might look like an ugly mass but other than that I'm perfectly fine." 

Kate nodded. "That's good. I'm glad you're feeling that way." She paused a moment. "How many times did you need to finally call us this morning?" 

"What?" Blair stared at her. 

"You heard me." Kate returned his stare easily, seeing his anger rise. "Twice? Three times is usually the average." 

Blair shook his head. "I'm _so_ out of here. Thanks for the try, Ms. McGuire." He turned and walked back through the park fast. He could feel the tension in his thighs again as he forced himself to move faster to escape the probing questions and to leave the memories behind. 

He knew it wouldn't work. 

* * *

Something was different. Jim looked up from his Jags game - a rerun from last Saturday - when Blair entered the loft. Carrying a bag of Chinese take-out, he put it on the kitchen counter and took off his jacket. 

"Hey, Jim," he greeted his lover cheerfully. 

With forced cheerfulness, Jim noticed. "Hi, Chief. I missed you for lunch today but I see you got it covered now." He stood up and walked over to where Blair was standing. 

"I'm sorry, man, I just decided to go over to the U and got distracted I guess," Blair said smiling. 

Lying smoothly, Jim detected. "Got any work done?" 

"Oh, yeah, yeah, quite a bit, man." Blair unpacked various small food containers. "Want some, too? It's fried noodles with chili chicken. I know, I know, chili is not really what you expect in Chinese food, but trust me, big guy, this is actually very good." Blair ranted, reaching for a drawer to retrieve some cutlery. 

Quickly changing the subject, Jim realized. "Sure," he said, walking behind Blair to get some plates. "If you want to share..." he added as he hugged his lover. 

Blair smiled leaning into him. 

Genuinely pleased, Jim sensed. "You smell so good." He inhaled deeply, burying his nose in the mane of curls. 

"It's the food, man," Blair chuckled, turning around to face Jim. 

They kissed each other carefully, as if testing the waters. Soon though their kiss deepened as their passion increased. Jim moaned lasciviously when Blair's tongue wickedly darted inside his mouth, teasing him evilly. 

"This... doesn't... taste like food," Jim commented breathlessly, bumping his groin gently against Blair's. "This is m-much better." 

"You like this, huh?" Blair teased, meeting Jim's movements hungrily. 

Jim pulled Blair even closer, while his hands roamed over Blair's back. "You're the best," he sighed, cupping the jeans-clad butt carefully and pressing Blair against him. He squeezed the round globes tenderly. 

Immediately Blair froze and struggled against the embrace. "Don't," he said almost angrily. 

"What...?" Jim began confused, as he released Blair. 

Blair pushed himself back, hitting the edge of the counter. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted, tears threatening to suffocate his voice. 

Jim spread his arms calmingly. "Chief..., honestly I don't know what just happened." He stepped forward but watched wide-eyed as Blair moved to stand in front of the counter now. "Did I hurt you?" he asked as an afterthought. Helplessly, he watched as tears pearled down Blair's cheeks. 

"Chief?" 

"I-- I don't want you to t-touch m-me there...ever," Blair managed, still moving away from Jim. 

Jim stopped in his tracks. "I'm sorry. I--I wasn't thinking I guess," he said, his blue eyes clearly showing his regret. "I never want to hurt you." 

Blair nodded mutely, wiping away the trails of tears. "It's okay," he sniffed. "You didn't hurt me," he mumbled after a while. "It's just... how can you stand touching me down there? You've seen how it looks like..." Despite his best efforts, the tears kept coming, making his eyes appear even larger. 

"Blair," Jim raised his arms but let them fall to his sides after a second. "I told you before that I don't care how your butt looks like. I just... forgot and..." 

"How can you _forget_ about it?" Blair looked at him accusingly. "Oh, yes, I get, I get it. You didn't live it, man. You have no clue what it's like to get up every morning and - bang! - The memories are there like you turned them on with the flip of a switch and there's no way to turn them off again." He stepped backwards as Jim moved forward. "You just have no idea what it was like to get stripped off everything, being on display like a fucking exhibit. You have no idea what it felt like..." His voice reduced to a whisper. "You don't know what it was like." 

"No, I guess I don't," Jim said calmly. "But I'm here to listen, if you want to tell me." 

Blair shook his head frantically and his eyes became even larger. He stepped towards Jim tentatively but stopped short as if he was not sure he was welcome. "Jim..." 

Noticing his hesitant approach, Jim did what no words could ever accomplish. He reached out and pulled Blair into a loving hug. "Come here, Chief. I'm here." 

Blair wrapped his arms tightly around Jim's waist. "I don't want to remember anymore." His shoulders quivered. 

"You're going to get better, Chief," Jim muttered into the thick curls. "It just needs time. We've talked about this, remember?" 

Blair nodded mutely against his chest. 

"Then you'll have to allow yourself to take this time to heal," Jim continued. "Your memories are terrible and you'll be able to deal with them. And there's one thing that I _want_ you to remember." 

Blair shuddered slightly but asked, "What is it?" 

"Always remember that I love you, no matter what." Jim ruffled the unruly locks. "I just love my Chief." 

Again, Blair only nodded as his emotions overwhelmed him. He held onto Jim's shirt and cried quietly. 

* * *

The moon shone brightly through the half closed window blinds, enveloping the loft gently. Leaning against the window, Blair stared outside into the quiet night. It was late. Jim had gone to sleep a couple of hours ago but Blair knew his Blessed Protector was instinctively watching over him, even asleep. He smiled, bathing in the warm feeling of being protected and safe. 

The moonlight painted a random pattern of circles and squares against the furniture and Blair remembered the shadows, which grew longer and darker. 

There had been no moonlight. 

Back then. 

In that cell... promising 90 days of darkness - and fear. 

"Just four days," Blair mumbled, leaning his head against the window. "You made your choice, man," he reminded himself. He laughed roughly. Some choice, it had been. 

Then he flinched as a stabbing pain radiated from his lower back through his abused buttocks into his thigh, following the course of the cane. Blair shifted his weight a little and the threatening cramp subsided. He squeezed his eyes shut and for a moment he covered his ears. The unmistakable sound of the cane cutting through the air echoed through his mind. 

"Stop it, dammit," Blair cursed, while his logical brain fought with the emotional turmoil and challenged his fears. Limping slightly through the living room, he slowly made his way upstairs. The pain in his backside increased as he climbed the stairs. 

Jim's soft voice greeted him. "Chief?" 

Blair could only make out the shape and form of his lover but he knew Jim was looking at him with sentinel eyes, while his other senses tuned into his vitals. Blair climbed into bed, sighing deeply when two strong arms embraced him. 

Shielding him. 

Loving him. 

"Everything okay?" Jim breathed against his ear. 

Blair nodded and turned slightly to capture Jim's mouth in a passionate kiss. "I love you, Jim," he whispered as Jim reciprocated eagerly. "Love me...," he added, pleadingly. "Please love me." 

The arms tightened around him. 

Their love-making began gently. With delicate touches and sensual caresses they shed their clothes, their motions slowly driven by the increasing urge to feel the other skin to skin. The sensation made them moan with one voice, as their groins connected, rubbing their growing erections against each other. 

Blair peppered Jim's chest with small kisses, nibbling here, sucking there. He smiled when Jim groaned beneath him. "You like that, huh?" he observed, his voice husky with need. 

"M--more," Jim gasped, arching his back to meet Blair's whirling tongue. Then he reached out suddenly to still Blair's motions. "W-wait... let's... do it together," he suggested pantingly. 

Blair raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Oh... Okay," he nodded as he realized what Jim was saying. Swiftly, accompanied by quiet laughter, he turned around and they shaped the 69 position. Before he had a chance to pleasure Jim's waiting cock, he gasped in delight. Supporting himself on an elbow, he threw his head back as moist lips engulfed his hardening shaft. He reached for Jim's thigh and groaned again. He could hardly breathe, the sensations too stimulating for his brain to send proper messages. 

It had been so long... 

He tried to form coherent words, a plea for more or a passionate encouragement to keep going, but he couldn't speak. There was only pleasure as the heat rose to boiling point. He moaned, bowing his head to let his curls tickle Jim, and then he looked up again to watch his lover swallowing his length. 

He panted now, as his body jerked, urged on by Jim's tender treatment. Somehow, his pant morphed into a syllable, three letters forming his lover's name. 

"Jiiimmmm." He jerked again, hoping his abrupt movements wouldn't suffocate Jim. However, the wildfire kept burning in his loins, approaching its explosive peak fast. He came with a shout and while he clung to the nearby thigh like a desperate man, his hips quivered as Jim kept massaging his pulsating member. 

Blair moaned deeply, burying his face in Jim's groin. He wanted to return the pleasure but for the moment, he needed all his breath to recover from the overwhelming orgasm. Jim's erection involuntarily poked him in the face. Still panting heavily, he darted out his tongue to give the straining organ a first, tentative lick. When he reached the hot flesh, Jim flinched ever so slightly, his sense of touch apparently turned up high to experience him. 

"L-like... t-that?" Blair whispered, flickering his tongue across the glans and poking around the sensitive slit. 

Jim quivered. "God, Chief...", he gasped. He roamed his hands over Blair's thighs while he enjoyed the the close-up sight of his lover's spent cock. "You feel so good," he sighed, touching the inside of the still trembling thighs now. 

Blair smiled and blew a gentle steam of air on the moist organ in front of him. As expected, Jim trembled, moving closer to him. "I like your taste," Blair murmured, whirling his tongue around the glans again before swallowing the dithering shaft. With his hands, he began a gentle caress of Jim's balls. For a tiny moment, he stiffened as Jim mimicked his actions and started to gently roll his balls between the fingers. 

"Sshhhh, just enjoy, love," Jim whispered, picking up on the minute hesitation. He massaged the sac carefully and his sensitive fingertips detected the scar that invisibly marred the scroctum. 

Blair relaxed and resumed his nibbling around Jim's cock. Occasionally both men jerked in synch at a particularly exquisite sensation jolted both their bodies. Soon, Blair felt the strong body beside him stiffen and greedily he swallowed Jim's seed while his name rang through the air. 

They lay like that for a long time, while their bodies tried to recover from the intensity of their love-making. Blair smiled and brought up his hand to gently stroke the now lax cock. He knew he was teasing but Jim's occasional shivers told him, his lover was enjoying the after play. 

"You can be a devil sometimes, you know that?" Jim purred from the other side. He kept caressing the heavy balls and carefully ventured lower. 

"That feels good...," Blair mumbled sleepily, drumming rhythmically. 

Jim smiled, knowing Blair's dancing fingers would probably manage to get him hard again soon. "I love making you feel good." He kissed his thigh while his hand trailed down playfully. He wet one of his fingers and ran it teasingly over Blair's center. 

"More," Blair sighed, moving backwards a little to meet the probing finger. He closed his eyes to enjoy the caress, his hand still resting on Jim's flaccid cock. Blair didn't move as his lover curled his legs and changed his position so that he could approach him from behind. 

"It's my pleasure," Jim murmured, kissing Blair's lower back tenderly. His lips moved lower until he reached the round cheeks. As he began to nibble and lick at the warm flesh, Blair flinched. 

"Please don't..." came the quiet plea, the need forgotten. 

Jim continued to kiss the soft globes. "Sssshhhh," he breathed against the now quivering muscles. "Relax, I won't hurt you, Chief." When he touched the first scar, kissing it tenderly, Blair flinched again. 

"Trust me, love," Jim said, however, he released Blair momentarily to give him room to move away. "I just want to make you feel good." In the dim light he saw Blair's sides quivering. He stroked the slender back and he could feel the tremors under his hands. When Blair didn't crawl away, he resumed his kissing. Each time though his lips met the marred skin, Blair flinched. 

"Am I hurting you?" Jim asked concerned, when he heard a muffled whimper. He sat back on his heels, but rested his hands on the back of Blair's thighs. 

Blair shook his head, burying his face into the pillow. Still, the tremors continued to course through his body. "F-feels nice," he stammered brokenly. 

"That's good, Chief," Jim acknowledged. "Let me make you feel good, huh?" With that he leaned forward again. The first kiss on healed tissue caused another violent flinch. 

"S-sorry." Blair started shaking with barely suppressed tears. "I can't help it..." 

"It's okay, babe, we don't have to do anything you don't want to," Jim soothed. 

"I... want you to," Blair moaned, his hands turning into fists. Tears of frustration started to roll down his face. "I ..." 

Softly, Jim kissed him again. This time he encountered a barely faded bruise, the remaining heat of damaged blood vessels still tingling through his lips. "I love you, Chief." He drew moist circles with his tongue. 

Blair quivered again. Though it was with pleasure now. "Jim..." 

"You feel so good," Jim murmured. "You smell so good." He licked across the buttocks again. "And you taste so good." He spread Blair's cheeks a little and blew a warm stream of air into the cleft. 

"JIM!" Blair exclaimed as rays of desire surged through him. He could feel his cock's first few attempts to harden once again. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the strong hands roaming over his backside. There was no pain anymore, only passion and indescribable love. 

It was... okay. 

* * *

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Jim wanted to know as Blair snuggled deeper into his arms. Outside, he could make out the first gentle rays of light as the sun sparkled through the blinds. Soon the alarm would remind them of their daily duties and Jim knew it would be a long, hard day for lack of sleep. He smiled to himself. What a lovely price to pay for a few additional yawns and rounds of drooping eye lids. Their lovemaking had been ... delicious. 

"What is it?" Blair mumbled against his chest as Jim chuckled. 

Kissing the top of his head, Jim replied, "You're delicious." 

"Why, thanks." Blair sighed. "Thanks," he added after a moment of silence. 

"What for?" Jim asked, allowing his lids to droop slightly. 

Blair shrugged in his arms. "For... making me feel good and not being grossed out." He sighed again. "Or... if you were, for not showing it." 

"You didn't gross me out, love. Nothing about you could make me ever think that," Jim pointed out, stroking Blair's arm. "It doesn't look that bad," he said quietly after a while. "I wish you'd stop beating yourself up about something you didn't have any control over." 

"I chose this, Jim. They left it up to me to..." 

"To what, Chief? Choose between jail time and the caning?" Jim tightened his hold as his lover flinched at his words. "Why did you choose it?" he asked. 

Blair remained silent. His voice was strained with remembrance when he finally replied, "I wouldn't have survived the jail, man. It was... horrible. I tried, I really did but I couldn't stay awake all the time and the men... they... stared me with their hungry eyes. I knew they'd come for me and I couldn't fight them all the time. I did. Oh God, I was so scared when he came on to me and... I couldn't do it, Jim. It was only four days but ... I've never been so scared before. I j-just wanted... to go home and everything'd be back to normal. I'm sorry... I couldn't stand the thought of spending more time there." 

"So, you chose the caning," Jim concluded quietly, hoping the senseless quality of Blair's alleged 'choice' would register with his lover. He had to take a few deep breaths to digest the fear he could clearly hear in Blair's voice. He felt helpless all over again, knowing that Blair had lived through that time alone. 

Blair nodded and wiped at the new tears that escaped his eyes. "I didn't have a choice, Jim," he whispered. 

"No, you didn't," Jim confirmed. "They never offered you a reasonable choice, Chief. The 'crime' they accused you of was ridiculous to begin with. Screw customs and traditions. Spending 90 days in jail would've been a no-win situation; and the caning..." 

"I didn't have a choice," Blair repeated. He raised his head and looked at Jim with moist eyes. Raw pain mixed with rage reflected in the deep blue orbs. "No choice," he gasped before he collapsed onto Jim in a quivering bundle. 

Jim caught him. "I've got you, Chief. Everything'll be alright now." He patted the trembling shoulders, swallowing hard to make the lump in his own throat disappear. 

Blair nodded, still crying. "They didn't ..." he began but the tears overwhelmed him yet again. 

"No, they didn't," Jim stressed, not ashamed of the tears that now trailed down his cheeks. Despite the painfully memories and re-opening of those mental wounds, which hadn't had a chance to heal yet, he was grateful for the tears. It was a first step. 

The End 

* * *

End The Sentence by Montserrat: montserat@onlinehome.de

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
